


Gathering of the Nine

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: General, Multi-Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 50,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3800953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine rings in hand, Sauron travels Middle-Earth, searching for the nine who would become the most feared of his servants. <br/> After six of the Nazgul are assembled, Sauron and his most trusted  arrive in Numenor to rot the heart of Middle-Earth's most proud realm,  all the while looking for the last three to complete the Nine Riders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Khamul

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

The desert was harsh, but one could find what one needed if one looked hard enough.  
Knocking an arrow, Mur let it fly at a large rodent that was crawling about a camel carcass. Some damn fool's been stumbling around in the desert again, she thought, urging her horse towards the body.  
It was indeed a large rodent, and Mur was quite pleased with the kill. Not that anyone else will be, she thought. The only reason I'm allowed to hunt is because there aren't enough able-bodied men. If there were, I'd be learning more weaving and doing women's work.  
The thought caused her blood to boil, and with a snarl, Mur kicked the camel carcass, splitting it open and letting the organs slop out.  
"Not fair," Mur muttered, swinging up onto her horse. "Let's go back," she said, nudging the beast with her heels. "Maybe they'll appreciate the meat just this once."  
And then, a peculiar thought took hold. There was a camel carcass. It was recent. It had a saddle. Therefore, there was a passenger somewhere. If Mur could find the passenger, and if he was rich, she might prove her worth. Imagine! Bringing back loads of gold and jewels. Ah, they'd love her forever.  
"Wrong way," Mur said, steering her horse away from the tent city far in the distance. "We're going to find this bastard, and by the Valar, he better be rich!"  
It took her much of the day, but at last she found a small cave within a large red rock, one of the local landmarks. Looking inside, she saw a fair-haired young man sitting with his back to the wall of the cave. He carried a large leather satchel, the riches of which Mur could hardly imagine.  
"Hello, friend," she said, smiling. Better to speak Western, she thought. I doubt he understands Haradrim.  
"Ah, the rescue party," the man said. He didn't seem surprised, alarmed, or even pleased to see her.  
"You were expecting me?" Mur asked. Is he some sort of wizard? she thought. He looks a bit odd. Kind of elvish. I don't know about elves…But they're rich, aren't they? Filthy stinking rich!   
"Not you, specifically, but one of your kind," the man said. He stood up. He was obviously an elf; tall, slender, but that fair hair was unusual in the elfkind.  
"You some sort of lord?" Mur asked suspiciously. Elves didn't take kindly to Haradrim or Easterlings on account of some long-gone war.  
"Yes, you might call me that," the man said. "You have a horse, yes?"  
"Yes…"  
"I would like to borrow it," the man said. "In exchange, I offer you something that has a value beyond price."  
"What is it?" Mur asked.  
"Everything you have ever wanted," the man said. "Power, money, freedom. Everything."  
Mur's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I don't believe you," she said. "I think you're lying through your teeth just to get my horse."  
The man sighed and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "All right then," he said. "Clearly you don't want any of that. Now, what price do you put on gold?"  
"How much and how pure?"  
"Pure gold, and perhaps fifty grams?" the man said. "A little more, maybe a hundred."  
"A hundred grams of pure gold?" Mur gasped. That was enough for her to get out of Haradwaith altogether. Hell, with that kind of money, she could hire a mercenary army and take over.   
"Yes," the man said. "And a gem. Women are partial to shiny things, I believe."  
Mur glared at him. "Maybe," she said. "But I prefer my shiny things to be made of steel and extremely sharp."  
The man smiled darkly. "You're just the person I've been looking for," he said. "I shall return within a year with a hundred grams of gold, and a small, but precious, stone. Ruby, maybe?"  
"I don't think so," Mur said. "You're just going to run off with my horse and say you're coming back? I really don't think so."  
"You would not want to accompany me," the man said. "I am returning to Eregion, you have heard of it? It's far from here, and they do not like Haradrim there."  
"And why do you?" Mur asked. "It's just a bunch of elves there, and you're an elf as well."  
"Am I? Am I indeed?" the man asked, his eyes sparkling. "Well then, call me a more liberal minded elf. In truth, nothing would please me more than to bring you back and see what you could do to my enemies."  
A chance to fight? Mur grinned. "If I had a sword, I could show you a thing or two right here," she said. Her brother had taught her how to fight in the middle of the desert, far from the tents. No one approved of a girl learning how to wield a sword. And by now Mur was the best swordmaster in the tribe. Her brother, however, had died when his horse threw him.  
"Yes, I'm sure you could, but I need stealth and secrecy right now," the man said. "I shall return. Fear not."  
"And you want my horse," Mur said. She sighed and took a leap of faith. "Fine, have him. But you better come back, or I'll come looking for you."  
A year passed without sign of the elf. And then another, and then another. Mur's father was enraged that she had 'lost' her horse, and forbid her ever to go hunting again. She spent her time weaving during the day, and sneaking out into the desert at night to practice with her brother's sword.   
"You have been studying for a year, and still you have not improved!" her mother lamented when examining Mur's latest weaving. "It is appalling. This blanket is so full of holes it looks like a cheese. I have seen children create better weavings. And you so close to your wedding day."  
"Maybe if I can't weave, I can't marry," Mur suggested. She was engaged to a fool of a hunter who was both stupid and a drunk, but he was the best her father could get for a girl who couldn't weave or speak civilly.  
"Your husband will not tolerate such words," her mother snapped. "He will marry another woman if you speak to him like that."  
"Good for him," Mur said. "I hope he does just that."  
Her mother was apoplectic. She gasped and very nearly choked in rage. "How dare you!" she gasped.  
"I'm done with this," Mur snarled, standing up and throwing the loom to the ground.   
She walked to her small section of the tent and changed into her hunting clothes.  
"What are you doing?" her mother demanded.  
"Leaving," Mur said, buckling her brother's sword around her waist. "Like I said, I'm done with this."  
"You can't leave!" her mother snarled, blocking her way to the door. "Don't you dare disgrace your family!"  
"Get out of my way," Mur said, pushing her mother aside and walking out into the blinding sun.  
"You told me you lost your horse," her father said, walking over. He took no notice of Mur's clothes or her sword.   
"I did," Mur said.  
"Then why is that man riding it?"  
And it was, indeed, her horse that a tall man dressed in black rode up to the tent.  
"Mur," he said, dismounting. "It took me a bit longer than I thought."  
"Who are you?" Mur asked.  
"What? Oh, of course. I am the elf you met a year ago."  
"You're not an elf," Mur said. The rider was definitely human, although he could have some elf blood in him. Besides, the elf Mur met had fair hair. This one's hair was as dark as Mur's own.  
"You asked me if I was a wizard. I am something similar to one," the man said.   
"Who are you?" Mur asked.  
"All in good time," the man said. He took out a ring of pure gold, set with a ruby. "For you."  
"Who are you?" Mur's father gasped. "And how dare you give a ring to a woman betrothed to another!"  
"Is she?" the man asked. "I had no idea."  
"And that ring belongs to me!" Mur's father snarled. "She is not married yet, and what is hers, is mine!"  
"Are you the chief of this village?" the man asked.  
"No, of course not."  
"Find me the chief," the man said in a tone that booked no argument.  
"What are you going to do?" Mur asked. She slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. It was so very pretty as well, she thought. Ah, stupid thought.   
"You will see," the man said.  
The chief of the village, a tall, elderly man, walked up. "Who are you, stranger, and why do you flout our laws?" he asked.   
"I don't care about your laws," the man said. "Bring me a horse and supplies. This woman is coming with me."  
"Yes," Mur hissed in exultation.  
"You can't do that!" her father roared.   
"I can and I will," the man said.   
"Who do you think you are?"  
"I am Sauron, lord of Mordor," the man said. "You see the Ash Mountains far to the east? Those are the boundaries of my land. You have heard of orcs? They will raid your lands and pillage your cities if you ever cross me. When I call for you, you will answer. When I ask for you to die for me, you will do so gladly."  
The chief stared in amazement.  
"Good," Sauron said. "Now, the horse!"  
"You have made a deal with the devil," Mur's father said to her. "You will regret this all the days of your life."  
"Perhaps," Mur said. "But at least I'm free of this dump."  
As they rode east, Mur watched as the sand of the desert gave way to green hills.   
"I have never seen grass so plentiful before," she said, looking around. "Or trees like that."  
"Mordor is a land of darkness and ash," Sauron said. "There is no blue sky, no green, no life. There is only a sea of gray water, and a volcano of fire."  
"Anything's better than Haradwaith," Mur said.  
Sauron smiled. "Excellent," he said. "I have a question though. What is your name?"  
"Mur," she said. But that was such a terrible name. It meant 'gem' in her language, and it annoyed her to no end. She liked her brother's name better. It meant 'strength'. "But this is a fresh start for me, isn't it?" she asked.  
Sauron nodded.  
"So forget Mur. Forget I ever told you it. Call me Khamul instead."  
"Very well then," Sauron said. "Allow me to explain my plans for you… Khamul."  
The woman now known as Khamul nodded.   
"I have in my possession nine rings, one of which I have given to you. These are no ordinary pieces of gold and gems, but are magical."  
Khamul frowned. "Magic?" she asked. She trusted magic as far as she could throw it.   
"Yes, magic. Fear not though, while it's not 'good' magic in the strictest sense, it won't cause you harm either."  
"What does it do?"  
"It will allow you to communicate with me through the mind," Sauron said. He held up his hand, and Khamul saw a band of plain gold on his finger.   
"Is that magical as well?" she asked.  
"Yes. I call it, the One Ring. I have poured a great deal of my own life force and power into it. If this should be lost, it would be disastrous. Therefore, I ask you to protect it with all your strength should the need arise."  
"What does my ring do?" Khamul asked. "If it is good enough, I will protect yours."  
"You're immortal," Sauron said.  
"What?"  
"The ring grants your immortality. You will never die of natural causes, and only the strongest of the strong can harm you. Therefore, you are nearly invulnerable as well. I think that is gift enough to prompt you to protect this ring."  
"If the One Ring is destroyed," Khamul said, "what happens to mine?"  
"It will dissolve as well," Sauron said. "Right now, that means nothing. But in ten thousand years, if the Ring were to be destroyed, you would crumble to dust as all the years caught up with you."  
"So this Ring controls all others?" Khamul asked.  
"Exactly. Yours and the other eight."  
"Who will get those?"  
"Eight other deserving people. Numenor seems a prime recruiting ground, don't you agree? Although I think it will be difficult for me to go there."  
Khamul had heard of that land of men. They were refugees from fabled sunken Beleriand, descended from elves, and wisest of all men.  
"I don't think you'll find any good ones there," she said.   
Sauron chuckled. "I shall have nine ringbearers," he said, "and you shall be lieutenant to the chief."  
"And why won't I be the chief?" Khamul demanded angrily. "I am the first, after all!"  
"Indeed you are," soothed Sauron, "but to be the chief means bureaucracy and decisions, and paperwork. As lieutenant, you will be able to carry out missions, fulfill your dreams of grandeur, and do whatever you like."  
"I don't like this idea of being anyone's subordinate," Khamul said.  
"You won't be," Sauron said. "You have fine fighting skills, I have no doubt about that. And you would be a fine leader as well. But people are fools."  
"You think that because I am a woman they won't obey me?"  
"They won't obey you immediately. They will eventually. But I need instant loyalty, no mutterings, no mutiny."  
Anger seethed inside Khamul. "I'll kill the first person who says a word against me," she said.  
"Will you indeed? By all means, go ahead." Sauron seemed faintly amused by this proclamation.   
Swallowing her fury, Khamul turned her attention to the matter of the remaining ringbearers. "As you said, it would be impossible to go to Numenor," she said. "It is an island quite some distance off from the coast."  
"Not to mention that they would kill both of us on sight," Sauron added.  
"Ah, yes, of course," Khamul said, nodding. And this is what happens when you spend your entire life in a backwater tent village, she thought sourly. You have no idea about anything whatsoever. This man could be one of the Valar descended to earth and you wouldn't know it.  
"You do know what Numenor is, don't you?"  
"Of course," Khamul said. "Land of the beloved of the Valar."  
"Yes," Sauron said. "And you do know who I am, don't you?"  
"You are a wizard," Khamul said.  
"Not exactly," Sauron said. "I am a Maia."  
Khamul's eyes widened. A servant of the Valar! Here! In front of her! "Indeed," she said. "You look like the legends say."  
Sauron smiled. "And who is the Vala I follow then? Do the legends tell?"  
Khamul had never heard the legends, as they weren't to be told to women. Her brother had made some mention of the Valar and Beleriand, but little more. He wasn't as interested in the histories as she was.   
"Aule?" Khamul guessed. He was the god of metal and craftsmanship, and what could be a finer example than this ring?  
"Once but no longer," Sauron said.  
"You struck out on your own then?" Khamul asked, grinning. A man after my own heart, she thought.  
"For a little while. Have you heard of Melkor?"  
"The Dark Vala."  
"Yes. He was my master in Beleriand. You seem surprised. Do I not seem the evil type to you?"  
"I don't care whose side you're on," Khamul said. "Although, now I'm curious. What were you doing in Eregion? That's elf territory, I know that much."  
"Eregion is a land of great smiths. Was a land of great smiths, I should say," Sauron said with a crafty look. "And I have no small skill in metalwork myself. Together we forged many rings of power. The One I made alone without their help, just as they made three without my aid."  
"Three other rings of this amount of power?" Khamul asked. In the hands of the elves, they could prove very dangerous indeed. "Did you destroy them?"  
"They were already in the hands of the elves by the time I arrived," Sauron said. "The Queen of the Golden Wood is not one to be trifled with."  
The legends of Lothlorien had reached as far as the small collection of tents in Haradwaith. Khamul hissed.   
"She is very near a Maia herself," she said.   
"Nearly," Sauron said. "Besides the three, seven other rings were made. For the dwarves, I thought."  
"They are still around then? I thought they had all drowned in the sinking of Beleriand."  
"They still live," Sauron said. He took out a large ring of solid gold, embedded with a single large emerald. "A gift worthy of the king of Khazad-Dum himself! The lord of Durin's folk, mightiest line of all dwarves!"  
Khamul nodded to Sauron's enthusiasm. One day I'll know what all this means, she thought. "Excellent plan," she said.  
"But you are right," Sauron said. "We must discuss where we shall find the other eight. Numenor is, obviously, out for right now. Although, in time, I think it would be an excellent place."  
Khamul snorted. "What do you need those half-elf bastards for? There are more than enough good folk here in Middle-Earth."  
"Ah, but I need a rat to kill a rat."  
"So you need a Numenorean on your side in order to destroy Numenor?"  
"Exactly. Do you have any objections with this plan?"  
Khamul shook her head. "What do I care for a bunch of elfbloods?"   
"I believe the north may hold promise," Sauron said, looking towards the Misty Mountains, far in the distance. "The rest of your kind are small-minded with no appreciation for the work it takes to gather such power as I have."  
I will learn all this, Khamul thought fiercely as they rode through day and night. I will learn the names of these lands, their histories, their legends, their cultures. I will learn their fighting styles, and master them, and I will show Sauron that I deserve to be the chief of the ringbearers.  



	2. Metima

They rode for many weeks, stopping at villages and searching for one who would be a suitable ringbearer. There was no success. The people of the White Mountains were, as Sauron put it, 'petty and small-minded', and as Khamul called them, 'fools'. Still, it was during these weeks that Khamul learned much about Middle-Earth and its many peoples. She found the people of Rhun, with their ships particularly fascinating.  
"We should travel there," she said. "They know almost nothing about Middle-Earth or Numenor. They're ignorant savages. You might find a minion there."  
"I'm not looking for minions," Sauron said. "I am looking for a loyal ally. Still, you are right, Rhun is a land visited by no one. To go further to the east at this time may be foolish and unproductive, but by the sea we may find one."  
And so they came to the great sea of Rhun, and Khamul looked at ships for the first time.   
"So much water," she commented as they rode through a small village. The villagers, unused to having visitors, looked up and chattered amongst each other. A few even reached out and tried to touch Khamul.  
"They're unused to the sight of Haradrim," Sauron said.   
Khamul snorted. "So I see," she snarled.  
"There would appear to be a great deal more people lining the streets than usually," Sauron said, looking around. "I suspect there is a festivity of some sort taking place."  
He glanced around until he saw an elderly woman, to whom he rode up and tapped on the shoulder.  
"Madam, we are travelers in these lands," he said. "Is this a market day, perhaps? There seems to be a great deal of commotion."  
"It's a wedding," the old woman said, grinning toothlessly. "Oh, I do love a wedding. The groom gave the bride's father a very nice boat."  
"Oh, you do a barter system around here," Sauron mused.   
"What now?"  
"Nothing. Come, Khamul, I think we may have found something."  
"A wedding?" Khamul muttered, but nudged her horse forward.   
At the shore stood a priest dressed all in blue, a pleased young man, and a rather unhappy young woman. She had olive colored skin, with dark hair, and even darker eyes. She was reasonably pretty, but she kept glancing around, looking for something.   
"She looks rather unhappy for a bride," Sauron commented as he walked up to a spectator.  
"Well, her sister was supposed to marry him," the man said. "But she died of food poisoning. And her own fiancé drowned in the sea during a storm. It's fortunate that the groom made it out alive. He was in it as well."  
"Was he indeed?" Sauron said. "Well, who says the evil can't do good? Khamul, stop that wedding, if you please."  
"With pleasure," she said, pushing her way through the crowds.  
"And by the Valar who look down from above…" the priest intoned when suddenly he found three feet of curved steel at his throat. "Oh."  
"Shut up," Khamul said. "And don't anybody move!"  
"Oh my," the bride said.  
"What is the meaning of this?" the groom demanded, pushing his bride out of the way and stomping over to where Khamul stood. "Who the Hell do you think you are?"  
"I think the more appropriate question may be, 'who do you think you're kidding'?" Sauron said, walking over. "Excellent job, Khamul," he whispered.  
"What are you talking about?" the groom hissed.  
"This bride's former fiancé simply drowned?" Sauron asked. "I find that hard to believe. The waves of the Sea of Rhun are not so strong, even during the most violent of storms. Drowned? I rather think you drowned him."  
There was a gasp of shock from the gathered crowd. The groom turned a brilliant red color.  
"You have no proof," he hissed.  
"I am a Maia," Sauron said. "I don't need proof."  
"Arrest this liar!" the groom thundered. "And you should just kill that creature," he snarled, glaring at Khamul. "Who does that woman think she is anyway? It's not a like a woman could be any good with a sword."  
There was a 'whoosh' noise and suddenly the groom's head slid off his neck and into the sand on the ground. His body followed a few moments later.  
"Just like I said," Khamul said. "First person to doubt me."  
"You certainly killed him," Sauron said. He glanced up and saw the crowd dispersing. "Interesting. I would have thought they would be staying around to see more blood and gore."  
"You are a foreigner, yes?" the priest asked, grinning and trying to look happy that there was a sword at his throat.  
"Yes," Sauron said. "Is there some sort of custom after one kills another?"  
"Well, you get the bride, but that's about it," the priest. "Would you like a ceremony…? Or perhaps not," he mumbled as Khamul glared at him. "I will leave now." The priest scurried off along with the rest of the crowd.  
"Interesting custom," Sauron commented.   
The bride slapped him across the face.  
"How dare you!" Khamul yelled, lunging towards the bride, but she slipped on a seaweed covered rock and fell into the water.   
"I take it you aren't happy with marriage?" Sauron said.   
"Not in the least!" the bride hissed. "I loved my fiancé, but he is dead now. Perhaps dead – as I suspected – by that slain man there. I loved him, and he is gone! I shall never marry!"  
"Have you heard of Numenor?" Sauron asked.  
"What?" the bride asked. "What is that?"  
"It's a land of humans blessed by the Valar," Sauron said. "I take it you haven't heard of them."  
"No. Why do they matter?"  
"They don't. At least, not unless you agree."  
"Agree to what?"  
"Tell me….what is your name?"  
"Metima," the bride said. "And what do you want?"  
"Do you want power, Metima? Do you want wealth? Do you want people to obey your every command? Do you want to lead armies? Do you want to fight battles?"  
Metima seemed startled by this. She looked at her wedding dress, which was covered with sand and wet with water. It looked to Khamul that it had been passed down through generations. The cloth was thin and stained in places. The Haradrim could see places were the gown had been stitched back together. No, the people of Rhun are not by any means rich, she thought. Not here at least.  
"Yes," Metima said, looking up. "I would like power. I would like to control people. I really would."  
"Good," Sauron said. He took out a ring identical to Khamul's, save that the gem in the center was an opal.  
"This is a precious ring," Metima said as he handed it to her. "But I don't understand how this will give me what I seek."  
"It makes you immortal and damn near invulnerable," Khamul said. she held up her arm where she had landed on a sharp rock. The cloth sleeve was cut, but the skin beneath was undamaged.  
"Unbelievable," Metima whispered. "And this is for me?"  
"Take it with my blessing," Sauron said.   
Metima slipped it onto her finger, and like with Khamul, it fit perfectly. "Do I accompany you now?" she asked.   
"Yes," Sauron said. "Take whatever you need from the village, and then find yourself a horse. We will wait for you outside the village."  
"What is she to become?" Khamul asked as they watched Metima hurry off towards the wooden shacks called houses.  
"Not as great as you," Sauron said. "But not as less as some."  
"Somewhere in between then," Khamul said. "There will be nine of us, and I am the second. What number will she be?"  
"Ah, you want specifics." Sauron considered this. "Perhaps fifth, maybe fourth, doubtfully sixth."  
Khamul nodded. "It depends on who else we find," she said.  
"Exactly."  
Metima joined them only ten minutes after they reached the boundaries of the village. She was dressed like some of the men Khamul had seen in the village; leather pants and vest, with a thick cloth shirt. She had a bow and a quiver full of arrows slung across her back, as well as a knife stuck in her belt.  
"I'm ready," she said.   
"We are looking for seven others such as you," Sauron said to her. "Can you think of a place where we may find others who crave power?" He smiled at this, nearly laughing. "Those who crave power and have the means to take it, with some help," he amended.  
"Harrowdale," Metima said.  
"What?" Sauron asked, looking puzzled.   
A land that he doesn't know? Khamul thought. It must be an obscure place indeed.  
"Harrowdale. It is a valley at the south of the plains to the west, between Fangorn Forest and the sea," Metima said, gesturing to the west. "A visitor from there came once. He seemed wise and knowledgeable."  
"Ah, near the Anduin then," Sauron said, nodding.  
"Some miles from it, I believe," Metima said. "But close enough, yes."  
"Harrowdale," Sauron said. He nodded after a moment's pause. "That is a name I have never heard before, but there is something in it that intrigues me."  



	3. Yanta

Harrowdale was not the type of place Khamul had ever dreamed she would visit, and she didn't like it when she saw it in person either. It was a valley, and in it was another valley, more like a crack, through one of the White Mountains. According to Metima, it led to the great hall of the king under the mountain.   
"Can a horse even fit through there?" she asked when they stood at the entrance to the valley.  
"This is a barren wasteland," Sauron said. "It's almost as bad as Mordor."  
An isolated, weather-beaten bush huddled by the entrance to the valley, shaking and shivering in the wind. The ground was nothing more than gravel and dry soil.   
"The people are wise," Metima said. "I'm sure of it. The visitor seemed very sophisticated."  
"Doubtful," Khamul muttered, looking into the crack. She glanced up at the top of the valley, wondering if there were snipers there, and if the ring would protect her from getting skewered by arrows.  
"We don't have anything to lose," Sauron said, nudging his horse towards the valley.  
"It looks cursed to me," Khamul said, looking at the bleached white valley walls. "Nothing grows here. It's worse than the desert."  
A twig snapped somewhere and Khamul's hand went to her sword, while Metima knocked an arrow.   
"You say they are wise and praise them," Sauron said, "yet you jump at the slightest noise? Is there something you forgot to mention?"  
"Um," Metima began, "well, not exactly. I mean, there was one small thing, but it didn't seem important at the time."  
"What was it?"  
"They don't really like visitors," Metima said.   
"Ah," Sauron said. "And how much 'don't they like visitors'?"  
"They kill them on sight."  
"I see. And this small detail just failed to escape your notice?"  
"I thought they might leap up and join you," Metima said. "I mean, you're a Maia. They can't kill you."  
"No," Sauron said. "But they can annoy me. And it would be a shame to bring this mountain down on their miserable heads. Besides, it might alert the Valar to my presence."  
"They don't know you're here?" Khamul asked.   
"No. While I don't know where they think I am, they don't suspect I'm planning to bring Numenor crashing down."  
"The Valar are powerful," Khamul said with a sigh.   
"Melkor was more powerful, in Arda at least," Sauron said. "But he is gone now, into the Void, so we must make do without him."  
"Oh, there's the entrance!" Metima exclaimed, gesturing at a low stone doorway in the mountain side where the narrow valley ended.  
"I sense a trap," Khamul muttered, drawing her sword.  
"What does it matter?" Sauron asked. "They cannot harm any of us."  
They left the horses at the entrance to the mountain, as the beasts would not enter into the dark.  
"It's cursed, I tell you," Khamul hissed as they walked into the darkness. It was cold, and rather damp as well. Moss grew on the ceiling, and small plants lined the ground.  
"It was just a year ago the visitor came," Metima said. "Surely a kingdom cannot fall so quickly."  
"It can fall quicker," Sauron said. "Angband fell in a month."  
"Ah! I hear voices!" Metima said, grinning. "There, up ahead. And lights."  
"Quiet!" Khamul hissed.   
A band of four humans sat around a fire where meat roasted on a spit. They were pale creatures, with fair hair and brown eyes. Surely they cannot be guards, Khamul thought. We're practically upon them and they haven't noticed us. And these are the people Metima thought we should recruit! Ha!   
"Weren't there four a moment ago?" Metima whispered, looking at the figures around the fire.  
"Yes, there were," Khamul muttered. She tried to pierce the shadows, but couldn't see into the darkness. They're there somewhere, she thought.   
"Why don't you tell me who you are and what you're doing here," a voice suggested as a blade was pressed to Khamul's throat. A glance at Metima confirmed that she was in a similar predicament as well.  
"Why don't we walk away from the fire and I will make you an offer you can't refuse," Sauron suggested.  
"And who are you?" the missing figure from around the fire asked.   
"I'll explain everything if you just walk this way."  
The woman – Khamul was fairly certain it was a woman – snarled something in a foreign tongue, but complied, poking Khamul and Metima in the throat with her daggers to make sure they moved as well.  
"What do you want?" the woman asked when the light of the fire was little more than a glow in the distance. "You're the unarmed one, that's the only reason you're still breathing."  
"I'm the one who's good with words," Sauron said. "I am called Sauron. Perhaps you have heard of me?"  
"No," the woman said. "But we don't get much news down here."  
"I am a Maia. Do you know what that is?"  
The woman shook her head. "All I know is that you three are trespassing and should be brought before the king. Or I could just kill you right here."  
"Do you want power…ma'am?" Sauron asked.  
"It's Yanta, and I've already got it," the woman said. She grinned. "I've got plenty of money, too, and some very nice daggers as well. You can't offer me anything that'd make me spare your miserable lives. You know what? I think I'll just bring your heads back to the king."  
"That would be most unwise," Khamul said.  
"Eh? And why's that?"  
"Because we can't die."  
Yanta snickered. "I bet you can if I cut off your head," she said.   
"Do you want to live forever, Yanta?" Sauron asked. "Do you want to roam the lands, spreading terror and fear? Or do you want to rot in this cave for the rest of your life? In a thousand years do you want to be everything you are now, or dust in a grave?"  
"You can't offer me immortality," Yanta snorted. "Only the gods can do that."  
"Then call me god," Sauron said. He took out another ring, this one set with an emerald.   
"That's a very nice ring," Yanta said. "But I don't want it. I could get a hundred like that if I wanted to."  
"They won't make you immortal. This one will."  
"I don't believe you."  
"I can't prove it," Sauron said. "But I can prove that I won't die."  
"What are you talking about?" Yanta asked.  
"Cut my throat with your knife," Sauron said. "I won't die."  
"Everyone dies if you cut them there," Yanta said.   
"I won't."  
"Fine, I'll do it, but tell your dogs not to attack me."  
"Let her do it," Sauron told Khamul and Metima.  
"This is mad," Yanta muttered, walking over to Sauron. With a flick of her wrist she slit his throat, nearing severing his head. "See? He bleeds like any man. And soon he'll be dead, like any man."  
The moment of truth, Khamul thought. Why didn't I think of this? Now I'll see if he was a liar, or if he's truly a Maia. And that should also prove whether these rings are the real things.  
The blood gushed for nearly half a minute before slowing and finally stopping. The gaping wound began to close, and within a minute, it was gone, with not even a scar to show where the cut had been.  
"You're the real thing," Yanta said, visibly shaken.  
"I am," Sauron said. "And I offer you this ring. Take it, come with me."  
"I will," Yanta said, accepting the ring and placing it on her ring finger.   
"Do you need to get anything from the city?" Sauron asked.  
"No," Yanta said. "I've got everything with me. Tell the truth, I'll be glad to get away from those idiots," she said, nodding in the direction of the fire.  
"Do you have a horse?" Metima asked.  
"No," Yanta said. "I've never rode before either."  
This will be interesting, Khamul thought. "So, three down, six to go," she said as they emerged from the tunnel. The horses were waiting for them and appeared anxious to leave.  
"The last three will be from Numenor," Sauron said, mounting his horse. "Harad, Rhun and Harrowdale are all in the south of Arda. The next three should be from the northern reaches."  
"It's just a wasteland up there," Khamul said. Or so you said, she thought. "The dwarves in Khazad-Dum, the elves in Mirkwood and Lorien, there are hardly any men at all."  
"They are scattered about in the lands west of the Misty Mountains," Sauron said. "And I think we shall pass a few settlements as we make our north."  
"Be cautious of the sea," Yanta warned as Metima helped her up onto the horse behind her. "It is a legend among my people that to look on the sea too long means you will be among the ones the sea people capture."  
"The what?" Metima asked. "Sea people? The people of Rhun?"  
"Numenoreans," Sauron said. "The ocean people would be more correct. They do come and pillage the land occasionally."  
"My uncle was killed by a Numenorean raider," Metima said. "It will be a pleasure to crush their country for that insult."  
"We're going to destroy Numenor?" Yanta asked.  
"Yes," Khamul said. "Do you have a problem with that?"  
"Not in the slightest. Will this be before or after we've gathered three of their kind?"  
"Before," Khamul said. "Definitely before." She glanced at Sauron.  
"Third or fourth," he said. "She's talented."


	4. Vorea

"I can see the sea from here," Yanta said warily, her hands straying to her knives.   
"There is no need to be alarmed," Sauron said. "The Numenoreans will not attack now."  
"How do you know?"  
"They are recuperating from a recent war."  
"Someone defeated them?"  
"No, they defeated someone," Sauron said, the words sounding like they were choking him.  
"Ah, already fought them, have you? You just need someone to help you?"  
"Yes," Sauron said with a growl. "And I'm sure you're just the person to defeat the united forces of Numenor and the elves?"  
Yanta smiled. "Maybe," she said.  
I don't think she understands sarcasm, Khamul thought. "Where are we now?" she asked. "This is a pathetic looking land. Are we coming to another Harrowdale?"  
"This is Enedwaith," Sauron said. "Once it was a green land. You could not step for walking into a tree. And now, the trees have been cut by the Numenoreans and sold for timber."  
"It looks deserted," Metima said. "I can't see a single village anywhere."  
"There are many small fishing villages," Sauron said, "but they are in league with the Numenoreans. No, we need someone from inland."  
"There is a river up here, isn't there?" Yanta asked. "It divides the land, I heard."  
"The Isen," Sauron said. "Yes, it's not far from here. We should arrive there by tomorrow, tonight even. It will be difficult to cross, especially now in spring."  
The day wore on, and Metima and Yanta talked extensively about their lives, their families, and their lands. Khamul rode next to Sauron, and neither spoke until Khamul decided she needed an answer to a question that had been puzzling her for several days.  
"I am confused by something," she said.  
"What is it?" Sauron asked.   
"There are three ringbearers now," Khamul began, "and I cannot help but notice that we are all female."  
"Yes, you are," Sauron said, nodding.  
"At first, when you picked me, I thought nothing of it. I was pleased that someone had recognized my talent. That they had ignored the stereotype of a weak, fragile body and seen what a tiger I was underneath. And then it was Metima, and I still thought you had chosen her for some great and unique talent. But now that Yanta has joined us, I am suspicious. There must be many swordsmen as skilled as I, and archers as fine as Metima. Yanta's ferocity and stealth are valuable, but there are many men who are like her."  
"In short, you want to know why I picked you?" Sauron asked.   
"Exactly," Khamul said.  
"The ruler of Numenor is a man," Sauron said. "And likely his heir will be as well. There have only been three queens of Numenor in all its long history. The culture of the moment is such that women are decorative objects. Ornaments. Do you understand now why it might be wise to have powerful women as allies?"  
The enraged look on Khamul's face told it all. "How dare you!" she hissed. "I thought you saw something unique, something special, in each of us! I thought you rose us from nothing because of some inner quality! Now I know the truth! You only picked us for surprising the Numenoreans! And when the Numenoreans are defeated? I think you'll take these rings back and give them to some male cronies!"  
"Nothing could be further from the truth," Sauron said. "You are a unique woman, Khamul. You will return to Haradwaith in time, with an army of orcs following you. Then you will take control of the tribes from the shores of the sea to the furthest reaches of the south. And then I will know that I did not chose wrongly in giving you that ring."  
"Any man could do the same," Khamul said.  
"But I did not choose a man. I chose you. You are the bearer of that ring, Khamul, and you shall bear it the rest of your days," Sauron said.  
"And if I have reconsidered?" Khamul asked.  
"Take the ring off then," Sauron said.  
"I shall, and I shall leave as well!" Khamul snarled, intending to rip the ring off her finger. Strangely, though, it would not come off no matter how hard she tugged. "What sorcery is this?" she growled.  
"You are understandably angered," Sauron soothed. "But your heart knows what you want, and the only way to obtain that is through me. Do not worry though. This process of gathering will be over soon. Traveling to Numenor is impossible for me, and there will be no more ships from the west for a very long time. Too long."  
"Then what do you intend to do?" Khamul demanded, still furious. How dare he! she fumed. I am nothing to him, just another minion.  
"I shall have my six ringbearers, and then I shall plan," Sauron said.   
"Plan?" Khamul sneered. "You mean you don't already have a plan in place? You don't know what you're going to do?"  
"I will return to Mordor with the six of you," Sauron said, "and then I will send you out into the land to terrorize the populace. Pillage some towns, raid a few farms, slaughter some hundred people."  
"You want to reveal us to Numenor so soon?" Khamul asked. "What madness is that?"  
"Not madness," Sauron said, shaking his head. "I think when the king hears of you, he will once again turn his attention to Middle-Earth."  
"And what will happen then?"  
Sauron shrugged, but smiled in a secretive way.  
The clever, vile bastard, Khamul thought. Keeping secrets from me, his lieutenant.  
"The river Isen is directly ahead!" Metima called.  
"Ah, we are making very good time indeed," Sauron said. "The horses of Mordor I knew were strong. But it seems that the Haradrim and the people of Rhun know a thing or two about horse breeding as well."  
"Speaking of horses," Yanta muttered.  
"What is it?" Khamul asked.  
"Look for yourself."  
A single bridge stood across the Isen. It was made of stone, and so narrow that only one horse could cross it at a time. Unfortunately, a horse was already on the bridge. Its rider was armed and armored to the teeth, and even the horse was draped with chainmail and armor.   
"I think in order to cross you have to pay," Metima said.  
"Or fight," Khamul said, drawing her sword. "I'll show you my worth now," she hissed to Sauron. "You will see that I am more valuable to you than you thought!"  
"This may be a foolish course of action," Sauron warned, but it was too late. Khamul had urged her horse into a gallop, heading straight for the bridge.  
"Get off that bridge!" Khamul yelled, stopping only a few yards from the edge of the bridge.  
"And why should I?" the rider said in deep tones. "Unless, of course, you have money, Haradrim."  
"I won't pay to cross a bridge!" Khamul sneered. "Now ride off if you value your life!"  
"You're quite brave, Haradrim," the rider said, "or you are a fool."  
"We'll see about that," Khamul snarled, drawing her sword.  
The rider hefted a large spear and urged their horse towards Khamul.  
This may have been a mistake, Khamul thought as she realized she had no armor whatsoever, not to mention no shield.  
The horse, however, was not paralyzed by doubt, unlike its master. With a quick leap, it dodged the charging warhorse and whirled around, just in time for Khamul to strike at the rider's spear, intending to cut it into two pieces.  
The spear, however, was made of metal and the reverberations nearly caused Khamul's sword to fly from her hand. Fortunately, the rider dropped their spear. Unfortunately, they then drew a sword.  
"You are brave, Haradrim," the rider said. "It seems a shame I must kill you now. I cannot have a single person, no matter how brave, cross that bridge without paying."  
"Unless they defeat you!" Khamul cried, charging straight for the rider.  
They met with a tremendous clash. A spike on the rider's horse gouged a long wound in Khamul's horse's flank, while Khamul's sword bounced off the rider's armor, leaving a dent, but doing no other damage. The rider's sword, on the other hand, hit home and sliced open Khamul's sleeve. It would have taken her arm off, but protected as she was by the ring, it only harmed her clothing.  
"By the Valar!" the rider exclaimed, gasping for breath. "You are unharmed! I knew I was striking flesh, but I seemed to meet with a wall more impenetrable than steel! Who are you, Haradrim, to possess such great magic?"  
Khamul held up her hand to show the rider the ring. "That over on the hill is Sauron, lord of Mordor," she said. "He has many rings such as this that he gives to those who pledge loyalty to him. Are you such a one?" And one who isn't a woman, she thought bitterly. Let's see if he'll take a man who has no more virtue than that he can bash people's heads in extremely well.  
"You are most blessed, Haradrim," the rider said. "And here comes the lord now."  
"An excellent show," Sauron commented when he and Metima and Yanta rode up. "You put up a brave fight, sir knight."  
"You do me too much credit, lord," the rider said. "I am no knight. Indeed, I am not even a warrior of a tribe, much less even belong to one. I am a wanderer who has set up shop here, hoping for some small coin to travel to vaunted Numenor and test my strength against her champions."  
"Then perhaps you would like to join us," Sauron said. "I will be traveling to that land soon, and could use some trusted allies."  
"Alas, good sir, but I fear I cannot," the rider said. "I have no great longing for a master, fair though he may be. And many are the tales and legends of your treachery, Sauron the Abhorred."  
Khamul, who had just sheathed her sword, starting edging to it once more, but Sauron held out his hand to stop her.  
"That is a name I am called, true enough," he said. "But I am also Annatar, Giver of Gifts."  
"A lie to deceive the elves."'  
"Again, true. But I did give them many gifts, did I not?"  
"And then stabbed them in the back," the rider accused.  
"I shall give you a gift, valiant rider," Sauron said, taking out a ring with a stone of diamond. "It is valuable, and shall make you as immortal and invulnerable as Khamul here."  
"I shall not swear fealty to any lord," the rider said. "Your gift is fair, but I cannot accept it."  
"You are wasting your talents here, warrior," Sauron said. "They could be much better spent planning war at my side. I can see that you have some skill as a tactician and strategist as well. Join me and win wars."  
The rider seemed to consider this. "You shall take those words back soon enough, lord," they said wearily.   
"I will not," Sauron said. "There is no reason in all Arda why I would do so."  
"Then I shall give you two," the rider said, removing their helmet. Wild blonde hair fell to a little below their shoulders. Her skin was pale and her single eye was as blue as the sea. "You see," she said. "I am a woman, and I have but one eye. Lost in my first fight, though the fight, I won."  
"You are a woman of great skill," Sauron said. "Take this ring."  
The rider laughed. "You still offer it to me?" she asked, incredulous. "You are mocking me, great lord, and now I shall have to slay you and your valiant defenders for the insult!"  
"It is no joke. Take this ring and join me," Sauron said.  
The woman rode over and accepted the ring from Sauron. "I am not a suspicious person," she said, "but something is rotten in this."  
"What could possibly be wrong?" Sauron asked. "I am a powerful lord recruiting able warriors for my cause."  
"But I am a woman."  
"As are they."  
"I do not trust you," the woman said. "You are ever deceitful, Sauron."  
"Then don't trust me," Sauron said. "I care not so long as Numenor falls. Now there are four ringbearers," he said with a smile. "May we cross the bridge?" he asked the woman.  
"By all means," she said, gesturing. "I shall follow you."  
"Who are you?" Yanta asked, looking suspiciously at the newcomer.  
"I am Vorea, of no one's house," the woman said. "I was left abandoned in the woods and would have died save some kindly wolves reared me as their own. My spear I stole, but my armor, sword and horse I have rightfully won in trials of combat."  
"She is a fine warrior," Khamul whispered to Sauron after they crossed the bridge. "If it weren't for the ring, I would have died."  
"You know what I said about Yanta?" he asked.  
"That she would be the third or fourth?"  
"Yes. Forget that."  
Khamul raised an eyebrow.  
"Her," Sauron said, nodding at Vorea. "Consider her your immediate subordinate. Your lieutenant. She is the third ringbearer."


	5. Aica and Ringe

"What is this stuff?" Khamul asked as they left the plains and forests of Enedwaith behind and entered into the hills of lower Eriador.   
"It's snow," Yanta said. "Don't you know what that is?"  
"I lived in the desert," Khamul said. "Though I would be surprised if you knew what sand was."  
"It's extremely cold," Metima said. "Can we get frostbitten?" she asked Sauron.  
"No," he said. "Consider yourselves above such things."  
"I don't like this land," Khamul grumbled. "This cold may not hurt me, but I can feel it all the same, and it is unpleasant!"  
"We will be gone soon enough," Sauron said. "We need only find two more, and then we can return to Mordor, where it is warmer."  
"Can't be soon enough for me," Khamul said. "These lands are deserted," she muttered. "There can't be a person within twenty leagues!"  
"There are probably trolls around here," Vorea said, fingering her spear. "We should be on our guard."  
"No troll would dare attack you," Sauron said. "They serve me, and as you are my allies, they serve you as well."  
"I still do not trust them," Vorea muttered. "They are treacherous creatures and given to sudden changes of heart."  
"They don't have mind enough for complicated stuff like betrayal," Yanta said. "We have nothing to fear from them."  
"Will we be traveling as far as the Ice Bay of Forochel?" Vorea asked.   
"Oh Valar!" Khamul groaned. "Not that! It's hundreds of leagues from here! Ring or no ring, we would all be blocks of ice by then!"  
"I don't think so," Sauron said. He looked around at the scraggly trees that were starting to pop up. "I think we shall be finding our next ringbearers very soon."  
"Yes, but then we have to find the sixth," Khamul said with a sigh. "Wait…what did you say? Ringbearers? They're together?"  
"I do believe so," Sauron said.   
Khamul's eyes narrowed. "How do you know this?" she asked. "Do you know who all of us were before you met us? Have you done some kind of divination?"  
"I am a Maia and a wizard, but divination is not my specialty," Sauron said. "I would need to the palantri of Feanor to spy on you. But I am one of the divine, and so I can tell that north is the way to travel, and that the last two ringbearers are together."  
I wonder if they will fight like Vorea, Khamul thought, looking around. I hope so. That was an enjoyable duel.  
"Is that a town?" Metima asked, standing up in the stirrups to get a better look. "I think it is. Over that hill, do you see?"  
"I didn't think anyone would live in this land," Khamul said. "But that is a town. I can see the houses."  
The town – and it was a town; none of those pathetic collections of huts they had passed in upper Enedwaith – was protected by a high wall topped with spikes. There was only one entrance, which was closed and barred during all hours of the day and night, save when travelers came and the gatewarden was sure they meant no harm.  
"That wouldn't keep out an army of ogres," Sauron muttered, looking at the walls. "But the beasts are too busy fighting amongst themselves to organize and take what should be theirs."  
"Are we going in?" Yanta asked. "I think I caught a glimpse of a tavern when we were up on that hill."  
"Yes, we are," Sauron said, riding up to the gate.  
"Do you sense something?" Khamul asked.  
"As a matter of fact, I do," Sauron said with a grin.   
"What is your business in these lands?" the gatewarden asked as he opened a small window and stared out at the riders.  
"We are travelers," Sauron said, "and are seeking shelter for the approaching night."  
"Fair enough, fair enough," the gatewarden muttered. "I'll open the gate." He shut the window and soon the large wooden gate opened with a creak and a groan.  
"Tell me," Sauron said as he rode through the gate, "what is this town called?"  
"Oh, Bree," the gatewarden said. "Biggest town in all of Eriador."  
Yanta snorted. "Pathetic," she muttered.  
The roads of Bree were paved with flagstones and were reasonably clean. The streets were mostly empty, but a few merchants looked up as the riders passed.  
"I'm getting myself a horse here," Yanta said. "I'm tired of nearly falling off this one."  
"Try to find a black horse," Sauron suggested.   
"Eh? And why's that?"  
Sauron shrugged and didn't answer.  
"Sense anything?" Khamul asked.  
"No," Sauron said. "There is promise here though, I can feel that much. Yes, our ringbearers are here. I'm sure of it."  
Khamul snorted and looked around. "Nothing here but weak merchants," she said.   
"And pickpockets," Metima pointed out, nodding at a few unscrupulous fellows who were following the riders while trying to seem like they weren't.  
"There's an inn over there," Sauron said. "The Prancing Pony," he read. "Strange name for an inn."  
"I never want to come back here," Khamul grumbled. "It's cold, it's wet, and it's muddy."  
"I'm sure you can lead the Haradrim to victory after victory in the south when we are done here," Sauron said.   
Khamul shrugged and jumped off her horse right into a pool of water. "Ugh!" she snarled, shaking mud and water off her boots.   
"Where do we leave the horses?" Metima asked. "Those men are still following us. I think they're after the horses."  
"And whatever money we have," Yanta added.   
"We should challenge them to an honorable duel and slay them where they stand," Vorea suggested.  
"Or we could pay the stableboy to care for the horses," Sauron said. "And pay him well enough that they're still there when we leave."  
"Protection money," Vorea grumbled.  
They ended up taking Sauron's suggestion and paid the stableboy a handsome sum to keep the horses safe.  
"I will, good sirs," the boy said, grinning inanely. "I'll keep 'em real safe, I will! Nothing'll happen to them, don't you worry, good sirs!"  
"Do you trust him?" Khamul asked as they walked into the inn.  
"No," Sauron said. "But I'll have you or Yanta kill him if the horses are gone. I think he knows that."  
The Prancing Pony was full of sullen men sitting around smoking and drinking in silence. There was a quiet poker game going on in the far corner, but the players were careful not to make too much noise.  
"I hardly think we're going to find anyone here," Khamul said, looking around with distaste.   
"That's intriguing," Sauron commented, glancing over at an ogre skull that had been mounted on the wall. "I wonder how they managed to kill that. It looks like a bull."  
"Luck," Khamul muttered. She was about to suggest they leave Bree altogether, when she felt a hand grab her purse.  
Metima was right about the pickpockets, she thought, spinning around and kicking an unfortunate man in the chest, sending him flying across the room.  
"We have stumbled into a den of thieves!" Vorea snarled, drawing her sword.  
"No," Sauron said, holding up a hand to stop her. "No killing."  
"I would only teach them a lesson in hospitality," Vorea said.  
"All the same, fists only."  
"You little bastard!" Khamul snarled at the fallen thief. "In my lands we hang thieves like you!"  
"You're not in your lands anymore, Haradrim," the thief snarled, jumping up. He threw a punch at Khamul, who dodged it and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and threw him into the bar.  
"Don't you dare strike my brother!" a weather-beaten woman yelled, leaping out of her chair and dropping her pipe. She drew a knife and ran at Khamul.  
"I cannot let such a brave warrior be slain by trash like this!" Vorea exclaimed, rushing forwards to help Khamul. She seized the woman by the shoulder and threw towards the back of the room, where she crashed into a table.  
"If you're going to stay here, Haradrim, you need to learn a lesson in respect," the thief snarled from behind Khamul.  
"And you need to learn a lesson in stealth!" she snarled, whipping around and dodging the glass bottle he was about to break over her skull. She grabbed a nearby chair and broke it over his head and shoulders.  
"Bar fight," Yanta muttered with a grin, looking around for any other patrons who appeared to be causing trouble.  
"My lord," Vorea said, dragging the unconscious woman behind her as she walked over to Sauron, "what shall I do with this?"  
"Take her outside," Sauron said. "And bring yours as well, Khamul."  
Seizing the unconscious thief by his shirt, Khamul dragged the man out of the inn, following Sauron and the others.  
"I think we may have outstayed our welcome in Bree already," Sauron said. "The looks we received as we left were anything but pleasant."  
"Unnnh," the woman as she slowly came to consciousness. "What hit me?"  
"I," Vorea growled, glaring down at her.  
"Who the Hell are you people?" the woman asked, staggering to her feet. "And what do you want here?"  
"We are looking for two people," Sauron said, staring intently at her.  
"We ain't had nothing to do with it, understand?" the woman growled. "I don't care what it was. We didn't do it!"  
"I'm sure not," Sauron said. "Tell me, have you heard of Mordor?"  
The woman nodded. "Yeah, Dark Lord's kingdom. What about it?"  
"What loyalty to you have to your fellow man?"  
"I don't care about that," the woman said. "Money, that's what I want."  
"How about power?"  
"Well, sure, that'd be nice…but I'm not going to get any of that. Neither of us are. It's not like anyone's gonna make us mayor."  
"I can offer you all that and more," Sauron said.  
Khamul groaned. Not these two. Yanta was bad enough, but even she had some redeeming values. She couldn't think what these two could bring to the ringbearers.  
"Really?" the woman asked, licking her lips.   
"Yes, really. Here is a ring," Sauron said, holding out an identical gold ring, set with a topaz. "It will make you immortal."  
"Now how about that?" the woman muttered, turning the gold band over in her hand. "That's pretty neat." She glanced up. "And my brother?" she asked.  
"What about me?" the man mumbled, looking up and rubbing his head. "Ohhh Valar. They're going to kill us."  
"No, they're giving us rings," the woman said.   
"Aica…"  
"Shut up and take the Valar-damned ring, you idiot!" Aica snarled, glaring fiercely at her brother. "Ain't polite to make a gentleman wait."  
"Yes, ma'am," the man muttered, stumbling to his feet. "Thank you, sir," he said, accepting a ring with a stone of turquoise from Sauron. "My apologies about trying to steal from you and yours, sir."  
"Think nothing of it," Sauron said. "Although I would not do it again. Particularly from Khamul. She is, after all, your superior."  
"What now?" Aica asked, glancing up from admiring the ring.  
"Yes," Sauron said. He looked from face to face. "You are my ringbearers. Six chosen out of all the world to bear these magic rings."  
"Now that's special," Aica muttered. "Hear that, Ringe? Just us six outta all of them."  
Her brother nodded. "Must've done something right."  
"There will be three more in time," Sauron said. "For a grand total of nine ringbearers, nine Black Riders."  
"Ah," Yanta said, nudging Metima in the ribs. "That's why he wanted me to get a black horse."  
"Who's in charge?" Aica asked suspiciously, glancing at Khamul.  
"That will be one of the other three," Sauron said. "Khamul is the lieutenant, the second ringbearer. Vorea is third, Yanta fourth, Metima sixth, Aica seventh, and Ringe eighth. The final three ringbearers shall be your chief, the fifth, and the ninth. Do you understand?"  
"We do," Vorea said, nodding. "And now where do we go? To Mordor?"  
"Exactly," Sauron said. "We travel to Mordor and my tower, the Barad-dur."


	6. Ride of the Haradrim

"Oh just go away!" Khamul snarled as the goblin tried to straighten her cloak. Wretched creatures, she thought. Even stupider than orcs.  
Khamul stepped in front of a mirror and admired her appearance. Each of the six ringbearers had been given a black horse and black robes. Sauron was going to make a point to the people of Arda. The point being made by the ringbearers' extremely sharp swords.  
Having spent much of the time since arriving in Mordor instructing Metima, Aica, and Ringe in swordplay, Khamul hadn't had much time to herself. Soon we will strike, she thought with a grin. We will devastate the lands. We will show the people of Arda true fear.  
Sauron knocked on the door and walked in. "It is time," he said. "Go to Haradwaith. Recruit your people, raise the standard of Mordor."  
"And then I shall travel through the desert with an army at my back," Khamul said, grinning. "I will sweep through the lands like a sandstorm."  
"Exactly," Sauron said with a dark smile.   
"I know what your plan is," Khamul said as she buckled her sword on.   
"Do you now?"  
"I do," Khamul said, drawing her black hood over her face. Strangely enough, she could still see out of it. More sorcery, she thought. "You are going to have us create fear and panic in the people. We will disrupt trading routes, demolish villages. Middle-Earth will go mad with terror. And Numenor will be angered."  
"That is a cunning plan indeed," Sauron said. "And when Numenor is angered?"  
"They will strike hard and fast at Mordor," Khamul said. "And then you will feign to treat with them."  
"Feign?"  
Khamul nodded. "Perhaps you will even let yourself be taken captive and led back to Numenor. And there you will corrupt the king."  
"That is a plan worthy of Melkor himself," Sauron said. "I'm not sure I could pull something like that off."  
"You can and you will," Khamul said. "I know your thoughts," she warned, walking out of the room.  
"Indeed you seem to," Sauron murmured.   
"Where are you going to, Vorea?" Khamul asked as she entered the great war room of the Barad-dur.   
"Enedwaith," Vorea said. "Each of us are returning to our countries to wreak havoc there. In my lands there are many fishing villages and trading posts of Numenor. I shall raze them."  
"Likewise in my lands," Khamul said. "The Haradrim have always despised the Numenoreans who have taken our people as slaves, stolen our gold, and burned our villages when they encroach upon the coast. I shall rally them and we will destroy all signs of Numenor."  
"Good luck to you," Vorea said, studying a map. "If I attack here," she murmured, "then I can disappear into these hills like a ghost. They'll never know where I went."  
"And good luck to you," Khamul said.   
An orc stood ready, holding her horse. Even a great warchief doesn't get treated like this, Khamul thought as she mounted the wild black horse.   
The gates of the Morannon were opened to let the ringbearers pass. Mordor was a flat land, Khamul thought as she thundered across the ashen ground. Here I am, perhaps a hundred miles from the gates, and I can even see the land beyond them.  
They rise above all else, Khamul thought. Then she glanced behind and saw the Barad-dur like a spike stabbing the clouds, and beyond it, Orodruin, the fiery mountain where Sauron had forged the One Ring.   
No one goes near the mountain, Khamul thought. No one ever goes near the mountain. And we will keep it that way.   
For in a secret he had confided in no one else, Sauron had told Khamul that the One Ring, forged in the fires of the mountain, could only be destroyed in that same flame. It must be protected against all dangers, Khamul thought. For if the Ring is destroyed, then I am destroyed as well.  
Days passed, and then a week. When the green lands finally became the sands of Haradwaith, Khamul couldn't have been happier. Here I am, she thought. Years after I left, I have returned.  
Neither Khamul nor the horse needed rest, food, or water. A blessing of the ring, Khamul thought. Not to mention that I won't get heatstroke.   
Her first stop was the only city in all of western Haradwaith. Its mud walls protected against marauding goblins or orcs. But it could not hold out Khamul.  
"I bring a message from Sauron, lord of Mordor!" she called out in the language of the Haradrim.  
The guards on the walls began whispering among themselves, glancing at the black-shrouded rider in fear, and then terror.  
Finally the chief of the town came to the gates. He was a tall, proud man, and would bow to no one, Maia or no.  
"Who are you?" the chief demanded, glaring down at Khamul.  
"I am a ringbearer!" Khamul shouted. "Chosen among all the people of Haradwaith for this great honor! You will bow before Sauron and drive the Numenoreans from these lands, or face his wrath!"  
"We do not answer to threats," the chief snarled. "Go back to your lord and tell him the Haradrim will not bow to anyone."  
But even as he spoke the words, Khamul could see beads of sweat on his face, and not because of the sun. He was terrified of her. The guards were all but cowering in fear. It was only the chief's pride that kept him anchored to the wall.  
"And what of the people you have lost to the Numenorean slavers?" Khamul demanded. "What of revenge? What of the pride of the mighty Haradrim? What of that?"  
Even from here Khamul could hear murmurings in the town. They were frozen with fear, but also her words had struck a cord. They will come, she thought. Now, I just need to deliver the final blow.  
"Send out messengers to the nomads and towns in all Haradwaith!" Khamul insisted. "Tell them to rally to the army of Sauron the Great! Tell them that in three weeks we march on the coast, and woe to the Numenoreans we meet!"  
There was a ragged cheer from the city and Khamul knew she had won. Whatever terror possessed the men had driven them into her hands.   
The days wore by and the people of the town began preparing for war. Messengers were sent forth the very day Khamul arrived, and by the third day the nomads began pouring in, armed to the teeth and hungry for Numenorean blood.  
Three weeks later, Khamul stood on a sand dune, looking out over her army.  
"There are over twenty thousand, my lord," a man she picked as her lieutenant said. "If we were to wait another few days, we would have thirty thousand. They just keep pouring in."  
"We shall show Numenor that Haradwaith's snake has not lost its fangs," Khamul growled. "But we shall not wait! We will strike now, hard and fast at the coast. Those who wish to join us will have to catch up!"  
"It is said, my lord, that the tribes of the eastern reaches are on the march, and that they number easily twenty thousand themselves."  
"Send a messenger," Khamul said. "Tell them to stop their march five leagues from the Numenorean stronghold of Umbar. We will meet them there."  
The soldier's eyes widened. "Umbar?" he gasped. "But…but it is impregnable."  
"It will burn," Khamul growled. "A single ship alone shall escape the carnage, carrying back to Numenor the tale of our great victory."  
Twenty thousand soldiers and over a thousand mumakil wound their way like a serpent through the sands, until a brilliant flash blinded Khamul as she reached the top of a dune one morning.  
"Another mirage?" she murmured, shielding her eyes against the brightness. But no, it was the sea.   
"There is a trading town down there," her lieutenant said, nodding in the direction of a small collection of huts. "Our people do not go there. There used to be some nomads, but then the Numenoreans took them as slaves."  
"No longer," Khamul said, drawing her sword. There couldn't be more than a hundred people in that village, she thought. They're going to be massacred.  
Not a single soldier died when they took the trading post. The buildings were looted and burned, and all one hundred and thirty five Numenoreans, and a few traitor Haradrim, were slain.  
"We shall continue up the coast until we reach Umbar," Khamul said. "Every Numenorean town we pass, we loot and burn."  
There were thirty-five towns along the coast, some small, some larger, but by the time Khamul looked upon the golden domes of Umbar, her army was larger than when they had started out.  
The fierce Variags of Khand had joined them, traveling hundreds of miles from their far-off land to rid Haradwaith of the pestilent Numenoreans.  
"And now, what do we do, lieutenant of Sauron?" the chief Variag asked, looking down at Umbar and stroking his mustache.  
"Your Variags and the rest of the eastern force of the Haradrim were five leagues to the east of Umbar, but are now just one. The western Haradrim and Easterlings of my army are camped right outside the gates of Umbar to the north. To the west, there is the sea, and to the south, there is more sea. They have nowhere to go."  
"They have ships," the Variag said.  
"We shall burn them," Khamul said with a fierce grin. "Bring the forces of the east to behind that tall sand dune over there. Signal me when you are there."  
"And what shall the signal be?" the Variag asked.  
"If it is dawn, I will see you, but if it is night, light a fire. A scout on the top of the dune here will see it."  
"And then?"  
"At dawn the next day, we attack."  
That night as Khamul was drifting off to sleep, her lieutenant rushed into her tent.  
"My lord!" he hissed. "A fire has been lit to the east of Umbar!"  
"Are you sure of it?" Khamul demanded, leaping to her feet and throwing on her cloak.  
"I saw it with my own eyes, lord!"  
"I must see it with mine first," Khamul said. So fast? she thought. I've heard that the Variags have the fastest horses in all of Middle-Earth, and now I believe them.  
When she looked down from the top of the sand dune, Khamul could see lights shining in Umbar, but all else was darkness, save for a glimmering behind a sand dune in the east. The light moved from side to side as though someone was waving a torch. They probably are, Khamul thought.  
"Forget dawn," she said, looking up into the darkened sky. "Send word for the eastern army to move in," she told her lieutenant. "Wake the camp," she instructed the officers. "In an hour, we strike."  
Eager for blood and loot, the Haradrim and Easterlings were soon falling into formations while the mumakil riders adjusted straps on their beasts and made sure the armor and reins were in their proper places.  
"Now is the time," Khamul whispered. "Lit a torch!" she told her lieutenant.  
From across the sands, another torch was lit. Khamul could just barely make out the Variag chief.   
"Charge!" Khamul roared, digging her heels into her horse's flank. The beast took off down the dune, the army thundering behind her.  
The largest mumakil crashed across the sands to the front of the army. It didn't even slow down when it reached the gate, but instead crashed straight through. Umbar was awake by now. Khamul could hear shouts of guards and cries of the townsfolk. All for naught, she thought. Not even the arrival of all the ships of Numenor could save you now.  
The combined army of Haradrim, Variags, and Easterlings cut through Umbar like the wind. The guards were trampled by horses, mumakil, and the chariots of the Variags. Umbar had an army, but no intelligence force, and had no idea that there was an army forty thousand strong camped right outside.   
"Send the mumakil towards the barracks," Khamul ordered in the chaos. Townspeople were running for the ships, and she had to stop them before they got away. This won't be a victory if they escape, she thought angrily. Of course, the army was the greater threat, but they were in more chaos than the city. Umbar had been completely taken by surprise.  
"Yes, my lord," the lieutenant said and began shouting commands. The enormous gray beasts turned slowly and began lumbering towards a contingent of spearmen that had appeared from the barracks. Several of the soldiers turned and ran as the mumakil thundered towards them.  
"I am going to the docks," Khamul said. "Destroy the town. Don't stop until it is nothing but rubble."  
Riding like the wind, Khamul was a creature of terror in the night. Soldiers and townsfolk alike fell to her blade, and those that escaped ran shrieking in madness off into the dark. It must be the ring, Khamul thought. I inspire terror in everyone I come across.  
Ships were already setting sail, but Khamul seized a torch from a bracket on the wall and hurled it at a departing ship. It struck the sail and soon the ship was ablaze.   
Finding a bow on a dead soldier, Khamul took it as well as a quiver of arrows. "Still trying to leave, are you?" she whispered, watching the ships prepare to cast off, full of terrified, desperate townspeople.  
Ripping strips off her cloak, Khamul tied them to the arrows and then lit them with a nearby torch. Then, with the aim that had made her one of the foremost hunters in her early years, she shot at the ships until there was only one left that was not in flames.  
"There's the only survivor," she said, grinning. One of the ships was not burning as well as she would have liked though, and she raised her bow to add more fire to it, when a sword whistled through the air, striking the bow from her hands.  
"You're in charge here," a Numenorean man said. "I know it! You're the reason Umbar has fallen!"  
"Indeed I am," Khamul said, drawing her sword and blocking the man's second blow. "Do you see that ship?" she asked, nodding at the only ship left in the harbor that was not ashes or in flames.  
"What of it, foul creature?"  
"Take it," Khamul said. "That is the only ship that will get out of this harbor tonight or ever. Take it and leave. Go back to Numenor. Tell your king that Sauron the Great will not tolerate Numenoreans on Middle-Earth's soil."  
"I am a Lord of the Andunie!" the man snarled. "You will soon see such a fleet of ships as you have never seen before in your life! And you will be the first to fall!"  
"I cannot die!" Khamul laughed. "Go! Run for your life!"  
After one last desperate strike at Khamul, the man turned and sprinted for the ship while the Haradrim laughed. "Coward!" she cried between bursts of laughter.  
The dawn rose through a cloud of ash and smoke. Umbar was nothing but rubble. Not even a single stone had been left unscorched.   
"Remember your pledge," she told her lieutenant as she mounted her horse. "You will come to Sauron's aid if he ever should ask for it again."  
"Yes, my lord," the lieutenant said. Khamul was returning to Mordor, and she was leaving her lieutenant in charge of the Haradrim. The Easterlings had departed as soon as Umbar was destroyed, and the Variags would soon be leaving for Khand, never to return, or so they claimed. Khamul suspected they would be back if there was a good chance to make some money.  
Victory is mine, Khamul thought as Haradwaith disappeared into the distance. I wonder how well the others did. And I wonder what the king of Numenor will think of this!


	7. Numenor

"Am I the first back?" Khamul asked as she strode into the Barad-dur. Sauron sat waiting for her on his black throne. Orcs moved silently and stealthily in the shadows, hoping not to be seen by the powerful lords.  
"Aica and Ringe returned a few days ago," Sauron said. "They destroyed several small outposts of the elves. Gil-Galad will not be pleased."  
Khamul snorted. "A few outposts," she sneered.  
"You did more?"  
"I am surprised you haven't heard of it already," Khamul said.  
"That great?" Sauron asked, grinning. "Tell me."  
"But first tell me of the rest," Khamul said.  
"Together Metima and Yanta have nearly driven the Numenorean settlers out of Middle-Earth," Sauron said. "Most are hiding in the hills. Far more than are dead, which is displeasing. But still, there will be no more settlements for a long time."  
"I have done far better," Khamul said. "Umbar has fallen."  
For a long moment, Sauron stared at her in silence. "You are joking," he said at last.  
Khamul shook her head. "The Easterlings, Haradrim, and Variags razed it to the ground. Only one ship escaped to tell the Numenorean king of our might."  
"You destroyed Umbar," Sauron whispered. "Razed it to the ground."  
"There is nothing left but ruins," Khamul said, "and the Haradrim are our allies."  
Sauron smiled. "This is a great triumph!" he exclaimed. "We may not need cunning to defeat Numenor after all! Umbar was their second-greatest stronghold in these lands save the Pelargir alone, and they have been scattered. Numenor has lost its foothold in Arda!"  
Khamul grinned. And now, she thought, you will promote me to chief of the ringbearers. Forget some Numenorean lord and give me command over all the rings.  
"This is beyond all belief!" Sauron said. "I knew there were many nomads in Haradwaith, but I had no idea there were enough to overthrow Umbar!"  
"My lord!" Vorea exclaimed, walking into the throne room of the Barad-dur. "New Haven has fallen!"  
"It just keeps getting better!" Sauron laughed. "First the settlers scattered, then the elves in an uproar, next Umbar lies in ruins, and now New Haven has followed suit!"  
"The hill people burned it with my aid," Vorea said. It is ashes and smoke now."  
"Excellent," Sauron said. "Numenor has lost everything now."  
A small orc crept into the throne room, quivering with terror.  
"What is it?" Sauron asked. "Speak your news, quickly."  
"My lord," the orc squeaked. It glanced from Vorea to Khamul, then shivered and seemed to shrink.   
"What is it?" Khamul thundered.  
"A great fleet has been sighted," the orc said nervously.  
"A what?"   
"A fleet of ships, my lord," the orc repeated. "They are coming out of the west. They will be on the shores of Middle-Earth in two days."  
"How did this happen!" Sauron roared, leaping to his feet. "What ship did you let escape?" he asked Khamul.  
Valar damn it all, Khamul thought. "It was filled mostly with townspeople," she said. "Save for one lord."  
"Who?"  
"A lord of the Andunie, he called himself," she said.  
Sauron hissed. "They no longer have the ear of the king, but they command a great strength themselves!" he snarled. "Still, no matter, no matter, this is what we want," he whispered to himself. "This is what we want to happen."  
"What shall we do, lord?" Vorea asked.  
"Withdraw all forces to behind the Morannon," Sauron said. "We're going to wait for them to land."  
"And spring some sort of cunning trap, lord?"  
"No. We're going to surrender."  
Vorea simply looked stunned. The orc's mouth fell open and it passed out on the floor. Khamul had seen this coming, and merely raised an eyebrow.  
"Don't just stand there!" Sauron yelled. "Move!"  
When the fleets of Numenor sailed up the Anduin and landed near Cair Andros, they were surprised. No armies waited for them. There had not even been a single arrow from an orc throughout the journey up the river.   
Suspiciously, the Numenoreans crept forward across the land, jumping at every shadow, shooting at every snap or crunch in the forest they walked through. And then the vegetation fell away and all was dead and barren. Before them iron gates rose high, their towers wreathed in cloud and smoke. They had reached the Morannon.  
Ar-Pharazon himself rode forward, surrounded by his guards. The king's golden cloak rustled in a foul wind from Mordor.   
"I like this not," he murmured. Not an orc was to be seen on the ramparts of the gate. It was a trap. There was not a doubt in the king's mind about that.  
"What shall you do, sire?" his standard bearer whispered.   
"He has abandoned his lands," Pharazon muttered. "I cannot believe this."  
"My king, trust not the Maia! It is a trap!"  
Pharazon's eyes narrowed. "Sauron!" he yelled, standing up in his stirrups. "Your forces stand not a chance against the Numenoreans! We will have your blood for the destruction of Umbar and New Haven! But surrender and we will spare your people!"  
"My lord, is clemency such a wise idea?" the standard bearer asked.  
"It does not appear that he is here anyway," Pharazon muttered. "Damn!" he cursed. "He must have heard that our fleet was approaching!"  
The standard bearer was about to reply when the Morannon creaked and groaned and began to open slowly.  
"My king!" the standard bearer gasped. "We should return to the army!"  
"No," Pharazon said. "I do not see an army."  
"My king…"  
"Silence!"  
The king stood alone with his standard bearer, the rest of his guards having fled back to the safety of the Numenorean force.   
No mighty force issued froth from the Morannon. No raging trolls or rabid ogres lumbered out, eager for blood and slaughter. The gates seemed to open for no purpose at all. But then a single figure walked forth. Completely alone, surrounded only by the bleak landscape of Mordor. Behind him, Pharazon could see Orodruin spit fire and ooze lava in impotent rage at the army of the West that stood before its gates.  
"Who are you?" Pharazon demanded as the figure stopped some ten feet from him. He looked slightly elven, the king decided. He was tall, slender, and dressed in black. His midnight hair fell to slightly below his shoulders. His eyes were as dark as the very pits of long-gone Angband.   
"I am the lord of these lands," the man said.  
"Do you speak for Sauron?"  
"I am Sauron."  
Pharazon frowned. Could this be the Maia? Surely not… Maia were terrifying creatures, nearly as great as the Valar. Still, there was no one else.  
The man who called himself Sauron held up his hand. On it shone a single gold ring. "I forged this in the fires of Orodruin," he said. "This is the One Ring. Rumor of it has reached you, yes?"  
Pharazon nodded slowly. He looked at the man again. Yes, he could see darkness there in his eyes. It wasn't just that it looked like the pits of Angband. He could see the smoke of Thangorodrim and hear the howls of orcs and cries of slaves.   
Shaking his head to clear the images from his mind, Pharazon stared once more at Sauron. "What kind of trap is this?" he hissed.  
"No trap," Sauron said. "Your forces are simply too mighty for me to battle."  
"There were rumors of a hundred thousand Haradrim."  
Sauron chuckled. "Rumors, great king." He knelt down on one knee. "Spare me, great king. Take me back to Numenor to do with as you please. Execute me, whatever you wish, but not on these shores."  
"And why not?" Pharazon asked.  
"My orcs are fleeing into the hills," Sauron said, "but if they see me stricken down, they may turn and fight with fierce savagery. You can lose not a single man if you kill me on the white shores of Numenor."  
Pharazon considered this. Now that he looked, he did see a cloud of dust clearing in the east. He had mistaken it for a herd of wild horses or other animal earlier. No, he thought. Orcs. Thousands of fleeing orcs. It wouldn't do to have to fight all those creatures. No, I'll just kill him on Numenor. It's not like his very blood is cursed.  
His cowardly guard and returned, looking sheepish as their king glared at them. "Bind him," Pharazon snarled, pointing at Sauron. "We return victorious to Numenor!"  
Sauron was bound hand and foot and placed in a locked room in the hold aboard Pharazon's ship. The king had expected orcs to pour out of the mountains as soon as their ships were on their way. But Sauron's words were true. Pharazon did not lose a single man in his expedition to Middle-Earth. There were no orcs, no ogres, nothing. The weather was fair and a fierce wind blew them with haste towards Numenor.   
As they sailed out of the Anduin, Pharazon came up on the deck to watch as the shore disappeared, and then to watch the west for when Numenor appeared like a glistening gem in the distance. Seeing movement, he glanced in the water and saw a small fishing ship perhaps half a league away sailing towards the west.  
"They will turn back soon," Pharazon muttered. "They will soon encounter Numenorean fishing boats, and then run back to their pathetic continent."  
The fishing boat did not disappear though, but kept pace with the fleet, albeit from a distance. Finally, when Pharazon was about to order his men to shoot flaming arrows at it, the small boat turned towards the south and vanished in the mists that were shrouding the sea with the approach of night.  
*  
"I like this even less than the north!" Khamul snarled.  
"Keep rowing!" Vorea hissed. "We cannot waste any time! The storms of this season are strong and violent. Immortal we may be, but I do not care to spend eternity on the bottom of the sea!"  
"There is a strong wind, and Sauron will keep the storms at bay until we land on Numenor."  
"Until he lands on Numenor. He expects to be there by then."  
Khamul muttered curses under her breath and kept pulling on the oars. Of all the ringbearers, Sauron had told her and Vorea that they would be accompanying him to Numenor. He neglected to mention the fishing boat. While they were away, Metima and Yanta were in charge. Khamul shuddered to think of the damage the two would cause, but hoped that Metima's good sense would prevail.  
"I can't see anything in this fog," Khamul muttered.  
"That was the king himself staring at us," Vorea said, nodding in the direction of the ships which were only visible because of their lights. The little fishing boat was as quiet and invisible as a ghost.  
"So?"  
"He would have caught on that we were following him, so we had to turn to the south."  
"He'll find out soon enough in the morning."  
"We have been following him from a distance ever since he left the Anduin. We are very near to Numenor now. We can land wherever we wish on Numenor. The king will not know we are there."  
"And then we'll have a long walk through an unfamiliar land," Khamul said. "I look forward to that nearly as much as more rowing."  
"We are fortunate we do not need sleep," Vorea said. "We are making good time this way."  
It started to rain early in the morning, just as the sun was rising. The mist and rain made it impossible for the large warships to see the small fishing boat following them. And then, just when Khamul was beginning to think they were heading for the Undying Lands, there was a loud cry from the decks of the ships.  
"What's going on?" she asked, looking around. Sharks? Had they spotted them? Had Sauron done something?  
"It's Numenor!" Vorea exclaimed, pointing towards a line of land and a tall mountain.   
"Almost there," Khamul said with a grin. "Come on! Keep rowing!"  
They left the ships near noon as they circled round to dock at Romenna Harbor. In the interest of stealth, Vorea insisted they dock the ship at a small cove, which was hidden by a large rock.  
"No one will look here," she said as they dragged the boat onto the sand.  
"I couldn't take another minute on that boat," Khamul said. "I'm damn glad we're off it."  
"Should we hide the boat, or destroy it?" Vorea asked. "I doubt we will be leaving this land the same way we came."  
"Hide it," Khamul said. "You can never be too sure."  
"Excellent idea," Vorea said, nodding.   
The two woman dragged the boat past the high-tide mark and into a forest where they covered it with leaves.  
"Looks very convincing," Khamul said, nodding. "A giant leaf pile."  
"I doubt anyone will come this way," Vorea said. "And if they do, perhaps they'll think it was left there by the tide last summer."  
Khamul snorted. "I doubt it," she said.   
"Where are we?" Vorea asked as they walked through the forest.  
"I have no idea," Khamul said. "Barely even heard of Numenor. Never seen it before, never looked at a map."  
"It seems we are lost then."  
"Yes, it does."  
Vorea put her helmet on and adjusted her breastplate.  
"What are you doing?" Khamul asked.  
"I am making myself appear as a knight of Middle-Earth."  
"And why are you doing that?"  
"Because no land is safe from bandits and I do not wish to be fighting brigands all the way to the capital simply because they mistake us for two helpless women all alone."  
"Good idea," Khamul said. She adjusted her cloak and belt so that it displayed her sword more prominently. "They'll think twice now."  
"But I doubt little more than that. We will still have many fights."  
"Fine by me."  
"I do not want our arrival to be heralded by stories and rumors caused by the slaughter of bandits," Vorea said.  
"Then we leave none alive," Khamul said.  
"Then we will attract the attention of the authorities."  
"Look, let's just find a road and start walking down it," Khamul snapped. "We'll deal with the brigand problem when we get to it."  
Vorea nodded. "It seems wise," she said.  
"Good. Thank you."  
After about half an hour of searching, the two came across a large paved road through the forest, worn with wagon ruts.  
"I think this is a major road," Khamul said, looking up and down it. "Strange though, no one seems to be on it."  
"All the better for us," Vorea said. "We should walk on the side though, in case some speeding rider comes along."  
"Yes," Khamul said, nodding. "I don't want to be run over by a horse and then have to explain why I'm not dead."  
"Where shall we head for?"   
"How about down the road?"  
"That would take us to that mountain, I believe," Vorea said, pointing to the enormous mountain that was in the center of Numenor.  
"I think that's where Sauron said the capital was," Khamul said. "So that's where we want to go."  
"And that is where we shall go," Vorea said.  
They walked through the night, and around noon the next day, a rider approached from the mountain.  
"Hail, friend!" Vorea called, leaping onto the road and signaled for him to stop.  
"What are we going to do, ask him for a ride?" Khamul grumbled.  
"I shall ask him for directions," Vorea said.   
Don't know if that's such a good idea, Khamul thought, following Vorea onto the road as the rider came to a stop.  
"Who are you, warrior?" the rider asked, glaring down at Vorea and ignoring Khamul.  
"I am a famed warrior from Enedwaith," Vorea said. "I have come to these great lands to challenge your mightiest fighters in order to test the mettle of Numenor."  
The rider snorted. "You will find us far mightier than you," he sneered. "Besides, what kind of warrior could you be to travel with that creature there," he said, gesturing to Khamul like she was some kind of distasteful monster.  
"You know what?" she muttered to Vorea. "I've got a better plan."  
Five seconds later, Khamul was holding the reins of the horse, trying to calm it as the rider's body followed his head towards the ground.  
"I do not know if that was strictly necessary," Vorea said. "The lord said not to slay more than we had to."  
"It was completely necessary," Khamul said. "Scum like that doesn't deserve to live."  
"Ah!" Vorea exclaimed, holding up a map she had found in the rider's saddlebags. "We shall now know where we are."  
"Yes, yes, that's all well and good, but what are we going to do about the body?" Khamul asked.  
"Dump him in the forest?" Vorea suggested.  
"You really are getting the hang of this," Khamul said. "Come on, come on, we've got to hurry up."  
Once the body was safely hidden, Khamul and Vorea examined the map.  
"It's a star," Khamul said.  
"It is said that Earendil guided Elros and the other displaced Edain to Numenor," Vorea said.  
"So?"  
"Earendil is the morning star."  
"Oh. So where are we?"  
Vorea looked at the map, and then at the compass drawn on it. "We came from the east, and we saw the two spits of land, and we sailed towards the closer one, which would appear to be Hyarrostar. We then landed right on the tip, where we could find a suitably hidden place."  
"So where are we?" Khamul asked.  
"Here," Vorea said, pointing to the tip of Hyarrostar.   
"And where do we want to be?"  
"Here." Vorea pointed at a large mountain in the center of the map.  
"It can't be that far away," Khamul said. "I can see it from here."  
"This part of Numenor is very flat," Vorea said. "The mountain is higher than any in Middle-Earth, and so it sticks up though it is very far away."  
"It's going to take a long, long time to get there," Khamul said. She looked out to sea and saw storms gathering. "Sauron will be landing soon."  
"We need to get to Armenelos as soon as possible," Vorea said.   
"What?"  
"The capital," Vorea said, showing Khamul the map again. "On the slopes of Meneltarma, the big mountain, there is the capital; Armenelos."  
"What's that there?" Khamul asked, pointing to the other side of the island.   
"Andunie? I do not know," Vorea said. She frowned. "Isn't that the title of the lord whom you allowed to escape Umbar?"  
"Yes," Khamul said. "So he's lord of that, eh? I wonder if we'll run into him."  
"I doubt you will let him escape a second time."  
"Yes, I doubt it very much myself," Khamul said.   
Taking the horse of the dead man, the two made good timing across the lands, encountering no danger and less interest, much to Khamul's disappointment.  
"If this is all Numenor has to offer, I am exceedingly underwhelmed," she grumbled as they passed another small, quiet hamlet nestled between hills.  
"I am sure Armenelos is a hotbed of intrigue," Vorea said.   
"It better be or I'll go back to Middle-Earth and send Yanta instead," Khamul warned. "What's that on top of the mountain?" she asked when she glanced up.  
"I believe it is a temple to the Valar," Vorea said, looking up. "It is the highest point in all of Arda, I believe."  
"Except for those mountains in the Undying Lands."  
"The Pelori? Yes. And Taniquetil. That is the highest mountain of them all. I wonder if it is meant to be an imitation of it," Vorea mused.  
"That's damn appalling arrogance if it is," Khamul said. She frowned as a disturbing thought surfaced. "That rider was pretty damn arrogant as well."  
"Yes, he was quite full of himself," Vorea agreed.  
"Do you suppose all Numenoreans are like that? I mean, Pharazon would have to be some great puffed-up fool to think that Sauron isn't up to something clever and devious."  
"I suppose a goodly number must share this hubris," Vorea said. "What of it?"  
"Three of them will join us," Khamul said. "And one will rule over us all. What if he's some fool like that man I killed?"  
Vorea nodded. "He, or she, could be a great imbecile, yes. But I think Sauron would be careful to pick a suitable candidate."  
"He better," Khamul muttered. "Or else he'll find himself short one ringbearer."  
"And maybe another as well."  
Khamul glanced sharply at Vorea. "I thought you were into loyalty and honor and all that," she said.  
"I am," Vorea said. "So long as Sauron is a lord I can respect and honor, I will follow him to whatever end."  
Khamul nodded slowly. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, me, too."


	8. Armenelos

Days passed, but finally the great mountain of Meneltarma was before them, and Vorea led the horse around the edges.   
"We will be there by nightfall," she said. "Earlier, perhaps. It depends how far the city has spread."  
"I think we're at the edge of it right now," Khamul said as they passed a house and a bakery.   
"By the Valar! It very nearly encircles Meneltarma!"  
"Astonishing, isn't it?" Khamul muttered. "Just goes to show what happens when you put people on an island and they really, really like it there. No one wants to leave, and they all have a bunch of kids. Then the island gets pretty full."  
"Hence the settlers on Middle-Earth," Vorea said, nodding. "Yes, it appears they are overpopulating the land."  
This island can't support them anymore, Khamul thought. They had to move to Umbar and New Haven and the Pelargir. They had no choice. No, she thought angrily. They did have a choice! They had a choice in how they treated the natives! They could have been kind to my people, given them gifts, bought the land fairly; Valar know they have enough money. But instead they took it by force, killing and pillaging as they pleased. The same goes for New Haven, but I don't think there were any natives in Pelargir except for Yanta's people, only they live in the mountain.  
"Perhaps once we crush them, we could make a bargain with them," Khamul mused. "We give them the Pelargir in exchange for them agreeing to be our vassal."  
Vorea frowned. "That is in an interesting idea," she said. "Sauron may agree to it, but it depends on the arrogance of these people. If they humiliate him, I doubt he will be agreeable to making peace."  
"Just a thought," Khamul said. It was market day, she assumed by the number of people in the streets. Quite a few looked up and stared as they passed by. Staring mostly at Khamul, though a few glanced at Vorea, who had replaced her helmet. What a great disguise, Khamul thought. It hides her missing eye, and that she's a woman. Why, if we could all wear helmets we might have more respect than any man in Arda.  
"I suspect that is the palace," Vorea said, nodding towards a massive white marble and gold construct in the shadow of the mountain. A high wall, also of white marble, encircled it, and Khamul could see green trees beyond.  
"And likely that's where Sauron is," Khamul said. "But how are we going to get in?"  
"I do not know," Vorea said. She slowed the horse as they approached. "The gates are tall and strong, the guards are competent no doubt. They will not let us, obvious foreigners, in."  
Khamul considered this. There were two heavily armored guards in black and silver standing before a closed gate of wood reinforced with strips of metal, which just may have been mithril. No chance of breaking that, she thought. We'll have to use guile.  
"They will also be on their guard seeing as our lord is within," Vorea said.  
"Yes, indeed they will," Khamul said. "Vorea, you always wanted to come here, right? Anything about it that really was a draw for you?"  
Vorea considered this. "The fighters, obviously," she said. "And since they allow a woman to become queen here, I thought I might be able to win some respect when I took my helmet off."  
"Anything else really special about Numenor?"  
Vorea frowned. "Meneltarma, the palantri…"  
"Palantri?"  
"Seeing stones, forged by Feanor in the years of the Trees."  
"Didn't Sauron say something about those?" Khamul asked.  
"I do not recall it," Vorea said. "They are very valuable though. The heirs of Silmarien keep them. Though I believe they are currently being held somewhere in Armenelos," she added.  
"Who're they?"  
"The Lords of Andunie," Vorea said.  
"They just keep popping back up," Khamul muttered. "I expect we'll run into them again, even though their lands are many, many leagues from here."  
"We must be on our guard," Vorea said. "That lord may recognize you."  
"I doubt it. I had my cloak on. I think he thought I was a ghost or wraith."  
Vorea chuckled. "The Numenoreans I fought thought the same thing," she said.  
"All the better for us," Khamul said. "Ghosts aren't physical beings, after all. So, Meneltarma, palantri, anything else?"  
"Well, Nimloth, of course, but that's about it."  
"Who's Nimloth? The queen?"  
"Tar-Miriel is the queen," Vorea said. "Though I believe Ar-Pharazon changed her name to something more Adunaic."  
Khamul snorted. "Then what is this Nimloth?"  
"A tree."  
"A tree?" Khamul asked. "What's so great about this tree?"  
"It is a descendent of Telperion," Vorea said in reverence. "The tree with silver leaves, a flower of which is our moon?"  
"I've heard of it," Khamul said. "Where is it?"  
"Inside the palace gardens," Vorea said, nodding at the gate.  
"I've got an idea," Khamul said with a grin. "Let's drop this horse somewhere and go to the gate."  
"I hope this is a good idea," Vorea said. "I do not want to be arrested."  
"We won't be."  
A few minutes later the two women approached the gate. When they got too close, the guards barred their way with their long spears.  
"You cannot come further," one intoned sternly.  
"We have come many leagues from across the sea to see Nimloth the Fair," Khamul said. "We wish to look upon the splendor of Numenor's greatest treasure."  
The guards exchanged glances. "We don't allow your kind in here," one said.  
"Oh come on," the other said. "It'd be good for public relations. They say we're all uptight and forbidding, and then we'll point out that we let two foreigners in to see the tree just a little while ago."  
The first guard seemed dubious, but at last he relented. "If this goes rotten," he said, "it's all on your head."  
Quickly and quietly the guards opened the great gate and ushered Khamul and Vorea in.   
"Brilliant scheme!" Vorea complemented in a whisper once they were in. "Where do we go from here?"  
"Where's the tree?" Khamul asked. "We'll go over there in case anyone's looking, and then we'll make a break for the palace."  
"And then?"  
"We blend in. Grab some servant uniforms, that sort of thing."  
Vorea nodded. "We'll need somewhere to stash our weapons," she said.   
"Your spear at least, and likely our swords as well. We can keep our daggers."  
The two hid their weapons behind a large hedge near a circle of flowers, in the center of which was a blossoming white tree.  
"That would be Nimloth, I assume," Khamul said, looking at the tree. She was impressed; she'd never seen an albino tree before. It sorted of glowed as well, which was unusual in most plants she'd come across.   
"Valar forgive my sins," Vorea whispered, bowing to the tree and then looking to the heavens.  
"It's just a tree," Khamul said. "Come on, let's go find Sauron and see what his plans are."  
"Yes," Vorea said. "Let us do that." She followed Khamul out of the garden, but cast a longing look back at the tree.   
The entrances to the palace were many once one was inside the wall. And neither were any of them locked. Khamul and Vorea simply walked in, found a closet almost immediately, and pulled on some plain white robes.  
"Are you sure these are servant uniforms?" Khamul asked. "They look like something a priest would wear."  
"I am sure," Vorea said. "Look over there? Do you see that maid walking with the tray of food? Yes? She is wearing robes similar to these."  
"So we're in disguise," Khamul said. "But we need a job as well. We can't just go wandering through the palace."  
"Here," Vorea said, tossing Khamul a mop and bucket and taking one for herself as well. "We are sent by the head maid to clean up everything we see."  
"Excellent," Khamul said with a dark grin. "Now…dungeons. They would be down below these floors, yes?"  
Vorea nodded.   
The stairs were easy enough to find. The door had been left ajar by some foolish guard, and since a flight of stairs leading to any respectable place in the palace would be grand and elaborate, these plain, hidden stairs could lead to nowhere else than the dungeon.  
"Hurry, hurry," Khamul hissed as they rushed down the stairs. "It'll be hard to explain why we're down here, and I'm not sure if cleaning's going to cut it!"  
The stairs went down for nearly a thousand steps until they finally emptied into a single room, of which a cell made up half. In it, with his back leaned up against the wall, sat a man who looked to be part elf, with dark hair and darker eyes.  
"My lord," Vorea said softly. "We have come."  
"So soon?" Sauron whispered, standing up. "I am pleased. I thought you would still be stumbling through the land, if not floating around on the ocean."  
"We had a horse," Khamul said.  
"Ah, some poor unfortunate just 'gave it up' did he?"  
"Close enough."  
"Fine, fine, but listen to me, no killing, do you understand? All must be quiet," Sauron said. "The king is weak, so weak that it is a wonder he has not fallen already. Nothing must disturb that, understand?"  
"Yes, my lord," Vorea said. "But what of the other three ringbearers?"  
"A young man has come to see me," Sauron said. "The lords of these lands send their sons to spend some time in the royal guard, and the lords of the Andunie are no exception."  
Is this the same one who was at Umbar? Khamul wondered.  
"You think he may join us, lord?" Vorea asked.  
"I wonder. Isildur is a man with weakness in him as well," Sauron said. "His brother is weaker in body, but I think he is stronger in spirit. And their father is the leader of those who wish to return to the days of worshipping the elves and holding the Valar as gods, untouchable by all. No, it is Isildur who will break. I'm sure of it."  
And will you make him lord over us all? Khamul thought bitterly. Perhaps you will. He is, after all, nobility. He has the blood of elves in him, and you like the elves very well, don't you, Sauron? You even fashion yourself after one.  
"What shall we do then?" Vorea asked.   
"Vorea, I want you to stay here in Armenelos," Sauron said. "You blend in better. Khamul, travel the surrounding lands, look for those who are still faithful to the old ways."  
"How will I be able to report to you, if you are locked up in this dungeon?" Khamul asked. "Not to mention that I will be many miles away."  
*Like this* Sauron's voice appeared inside Khamul's head, and she stumbled back.  
"I didn't know you could do that," she muttered.  
*This is how I shall communicate with both of you* Sauron thought. *Khamul, tell me what news of these faithful you find. Vorea, tell me all you find about the king and his queen, their lords and their servants. Everything. It could be a matter of victory or defeat.*  
"Very well," Khamul said. "I shall depart at once. Lucky you," she muttered as they left the dungeon.  
"What was that?" Vorea asked.  
"Nothing," Khamul said. "I've just got one question though."  
"Yes?"  
"Where did we put the horse?"


	9. Ceure

After retrieving her sword and locating the horse, which had found its way into an overturned apple stand, Khamul was well out of Armenelos soon enough, urging the horse to its fastest. She couldn't wait to get out of that filthy city. Everyone watching her, staring, gawking. She couldn't take it one moment longer.  
"It's bad enough being a woman in these lands," she grumbled. "I've got to be a Haradrim as well. And that's why Sauron's sending me away. I stick out like a fox in a den of wolves."  
It rained that night. Khamul pulled up a cloak she'd snatched, but it did little once the rain started pouring. It's going to be a long, wet journey, she thought.  
In the morning she was starving, which surprised her. She almost never got hungry except when she hadn't eaten for months. Has it really been that long? she thought. I suppose it has. Everything's been passing by so quickly. Fighting the Numenoreans in Haradwaith, then this.   
Khamul steered her horse towards a beautiful marble mansion. They've got to have some food to spare to a poor wanderer, she thought.  
Imagine living in a place like that, Khamul thought as she swung down off the horse. The garden was alive with hummingbirds swarming brilliant flowers and carefully-groomed trees.  
Khamul knocked once on the door, and was rather surprised when it opened almost immediately.  
"Oh!" the maid, a very petite woman, exclaimed and dashed away immediately in fright.  
"I didn't think I looked that bad," Khamul muttered, brushing off some twigs and plant matter that clung to her.  
A tall, middle-aged woman in a long, austere gown approached, wielding a fireplace poker. "Oh," she said when she saw Khamul.  
"That's what your maid said as well," she said.  
"What a silly girl," the woman said, tossing the poker aside. "I really should get another one."  
"Perhaps a Haradrim."  
"Are you offering me your services?" the woman asked, raising an eyebrow.  
"No," Khamul said. "Just a suggestion."  
"What do you want?"  
"I would like food and water," Khamul said. "I've had a long journey and I'm starving."  
"Very well," the woman said. "Provided you tell me of your journey. I always like a good tale."  
"I can tell you little," Khamul said. "It is boring, for one thing, and another demands privacy."  
"Isn't that always the way of things," the woman said, disgusted. "Come along to the kitchen. The silly maid's likely cowering under the bed upstairs. I will make you some food myself."  
The inside of the house was every bit as extravagant as the outside. Crystal chandeliers hung on the ceiling, finely woven carpet covered the marble floors. It was nearly as fine as the king's palace, Khamul thought. Or maybe this is even better.   
"Here, there's some bread," the woman said, taking a loaf from the counter and handing it to Khamul. "There's a jug of water on the table, and there's some cheese in the pantry. I will get it for you."  
"This is a fine house," Khamul commented. Even the kitchen was spotless, and the cutlery was of finest silver, while the dishes were made of bone china.   
"Thank you," the woman said stiffly. "It is my brother's. I am a widow, and so all my lands and possessions went to him. He sold everything I owned to pay his gambling debts. Everything," she whispered. "Down to the ring on my finger."  
"That is a shame," Khamul said. "What did you get in exchange?"  
The woman snorted. "Shelter in this house, though he treats me more like a governess for his unruly wife and a maid than anything else. He has even forbid me to leave this house! And it was my father's! We grew up here! How dare he!" she hissed. "And I am his elder!"  
"It is not right," Khamul said, an idea worming into her mind. "Can you ride a horse?" she asked.  
"Yes," the woman said suspiciously. After a moment's hesitation, she sat down at the table across from Khamul. "Tell me," she hissed impatiently. "I cannot bear another moment here!"  
"Take a horse and ride to Armenelos," Khamul said, not entirely sure where she was going with this. "Go to the palace and find a woman with only one eye. Her name is Vorea. Tell her Khamul sent you for a ring."  
The woman nodded slowly. "Khamul sent me for a ring. You are Khamul, I'm guessing?"  
"Yes."  
"And this ring, what is it?"  
"Something that will give you all you desire," Khamul said.  
"Bah! There's no such thing," the woman said.  
"It will make you immortal and invulnerable."  
"I want neither of those things. I only want to leave this world. I am tired of it, and it is weary of my company as well."  
"You want power," Khamul said. "You want to show your brother that you are his better. You want to teach these people a lesson they will never forget. We can give you that. All that and more. Power to punish those whom you wish, reward those whom you favor."  
The woman thought about this for a moment, twisting her thin hands. Khamul could see new wrinkles in the woman's face. Before her husband died, she was happy, she thought. But now she is weary with labors that should not be set on one such as her.  
"What is your name?" Khamul asked.  
"Ceure," the woman said. She looked up and there was a fierce gleam in her eye. "I will go to Armenelos."  
Together they left the mansion and rode to the end of the long driveway before parting.   
"Remember my words!" Khamul exclaimed.  
"I shall never forget them!" Ceure called back. "May the Valar bless you!"  
"And they you!" Khamul called back. I doubt there is a single Vala that would bless me, she thought.


	10. To Trick a King

What was the plan? To destroy Numenor. How was the plan to be accomplished? Through treachery and anything else that would bring about the utter annihilation of the island as quickly as possible.  
Sauron sighed. It was hard to accomplish one's goals when one was in a cell.  
I'm getting through to the king, he thought. Soon I'll be able to get him to let me out. But I need to make sure Isildur is under my thumb by then. To see his king let out a dangerous criminal like myself might shock him to rebel against both of us. I need to play this carefully. Very carefully.  
Isildur would make a fine chief ringbearer. He was young, pliable, and not too bright in the head. Everything Sauron was looking for. Not to mention that he had more redeeming qualities such as a skill with tactics and was very fine with a sword.  
Khamul won't like him though, Sauron thought. She won't like anyone above her, no matter who they are. And she will never understand why I can't have her be the chief, just as I will never attempt to explain.  
It was quite a simple explanation really. Sauron – Maia, wizard, master tactician – was afraid of the Haradrim woman. If she was at the top of his servants, then she might look on the master with a scrutinizing eye and find him wanting. She might rebel, and she might lead a rebellion. Sauron did not need that keeping him awake at night. But with her in second place, she would still basically run everything, but direct her fury and bitter resentment towards the man in charge. Yes, it would do well to have a man be the chief ringbearer. He had a feeling that Khamul would be more likely to challenge or outright kill a female commander than a male one. Of course, that didn't mean she wouldn't try something. He would have to watch out for her.  
Why can nothing be simple? Sauron wondered as the door to the dungeon creaked open and down walked Isildur, son of Elendil, chief of the Valar-worshipers in all Arda.  
"The king is on his way to speak with you," the young man said, looking coldly at Sauron. He couldn't hide the curiosity in those cold eyes though. Yes, Sauron thought, I have done well indeed.  
"And what does he wish to speak about?" Sauron asked.  
"I…I do not know," Isildur said. "Your treachery, I suppose," he said harshly, hoping to make up for his previous stumble.  
"My treachery?" Sauron asked, raising an eyebrow. "What treason have I committed? I am no citizen of Numenor. I am merely a captive of war."  
"You are a traitor to Arda itself!" Isildur exclaimed. "Or so my father says," he muttered.  
"And do you believe your father?"  
"He is a wise man. His father, Amandil, is wise, too."  
"A wise man from a long line of wise men," Sauron said. "And are you, Isildur, wise as well?"  
The young man stumbled back, surprised. "I…I am still young," he said. He shook his head. "I should not be talking to you," he muttered.  
"The king is taking his time," Sauron said. "Talk. I grow lonely here in these dark dungeons."  
"The king says you will bewitch any guard you speak to," Isildur said. "My father agrees with him. He tells me not to speak with you."  
"And yet you are," Sauron pointed out.  
"I should not. You…you…why did you do it?" Isildur asked at last.  
"Do what?" Yes, I've got him right where I want him, Sauron thought.  
"Why did you surrender?" Isildur asked. "You have many orcs, as well as other creatures. And behind the Morannon you could survive for many months. We could never break through the Black Gate. So why did you surrender?"  
"I felt repentance for my deeds," Sauron said. "When I saw what I had done to the elves of Eregion, I felt horror and disgust. I promised that I would never do such a thing again. When I heard of the king's great fleet, I gave myself up to justice."  
Isildur nodded slowly. He's completely under my spell if he believed that, Sauron thought. Yes, I think it's time to get out of this cell now.  
The dungeon door opened again and Ar-Pharazon himself walked in. "Leave, guard," he told Isildur and walked right up to the bars of Sauron's cell.  
"Welcome, sire," Sauron said as the door shut behind Isildur.  
Pharazon began pacing back and forth. Something is troubling him, Sauron thought. Let's see if I can convince him I can fix it.  
"You seem distraught, sire," Sauron said. "What ails you?"  
"I am growing old," Pharazon whispered. "Oh, I have lived lives of normal men, but so have my forefathers. I find no great sign of it, but sometimes I am short of breath. I cannot run so fast nor as long as I used to. My face is becoming lined."  
"Ah, king, you are still young," Sauron said. "But you are of mortal men. You will die one day, regrettably."  
Ar-Pharazon whirled around with the speed of a snake to face Sauron. "I will not die," he hissed. "I cannot! I am Ar-Pharazon the Golden! I am the greatest king Numenor ever had! I will become immortal!"  
You poor, foolish mortal, Sauron thought while appearing sympathetic to the king. You are falling into my hands. Falling, falling, falling.  
"My lord, there is little I can do," Sauron said.  
Pharazon snarled a curse and looked away.  
"…From in here," Sauron finished.  
"What?" Pharazon asked, looking back.  
"In a cell I cannot use all my powers to aid you, great king."  
"I will free you," Pharazon said. For a moment his sense took hold and he stared with suspicion at Sauron. "But first swear to me that you will do this. That you will not flee."  
"Numenor is a blessed land of the Valar," Sauron said. "My power is weakened here. And besides, why would I want to flee? You would only capture me again."  
Pharazon nodded slowly. "Wait, you say your power is weakened?"  
"By the Valar, yes."  
"The Valar," Pharazon said, grinding his teeth. "They give the gift of immortality to the elves, worthless creatures that they are. And they give us – oh, they give us! – the 'gift' of death. Death. A gift. What a silly notion."  
"Indeed, my king," Sauron said. He frowned, appearing to be deep in concentration. "My king, if the worship and reverence of the Valar were to decrease in Numenor, my power would increase. I would be better able to aid you, my king."  
"I will have all statues and altars to the Valar torn down at once," Pharazon said.  
"There is a temple, is there not, to Varda and Iluvatar?" Sauron asked.  
"I will have it razed."  
"Oh, you need not raze it, my king," Sauron said. "Instead, take out the things of the Valar. Allow me use of it."  
"What will you do?" Pharazon asked, his suspicions still not completely alleviated.  
"My own lord, Melkor, has not had worshippers for a long, long time," Sauron said. "He is not one of the Valar, but a far mightier being."  
Pharazon listened, completely caught in Sauron's web. "I have heard Melkor is a vile being," he said.  
"Work of the Valar and elves, my king. I swear he will bring you to your youth again."  
"No! I do not care to go through this agonizing process of aging again! I want immortality!"  
"And you shall have it, my king," Sauron said. "Just let me out, and I will bring you to the Undying Lands themselves."  
"Guards!" Pharazon called. Isildur and two of his comrades hurried into the dungeon. "Release him."  
The guards were stunned. Isildur stopped in his tracks and the other two ran into him.  
"Release him, sire?" Isildur asked.  
"Yes," Pharazon said. "He is innocent of wrong-doing."  
"My king…?"  
"Work of the Valar," Pharazon said. "Let him out!"  
"Yes, my king," one of the guards said, hurrying over to the cell and releasing Sauron.  
"Thank you, sire," Sauron said, bowing low. "I will get to work at once."  
"Yes, bring me what is rightfully mine and every true Numenorean's," Pharazon said.  
"You will all be immortal soon, my king," Sauron said.  
The guards all began talking to each other at once. Isildur sounded excited at the prospect of immortality. Yes, Sauron thought as he strode up the steps of the dungeon, you will be the only one who gets it though, I fear. Pharazon shall perish in the flames that will consume Numenor.  
There was a clatter as a maid dropped a bucket and mop.  
"You needn't bother with the disguise, Vorea," Sauron said. "Get yourself into armor and attend me in the chapel formerly of the Valar. Do you know where that is?"  
"Yes, my lord."  
"Good. We have work to do."


	11. The Lord of the Andunie

Khamul slid off her horse and stretched her legs. She had lost track of the time. It was a different season than when they had landed in Numenor. It had been…fall when they landed, yet the air was warmer. Surely it could not be spring already?  
For days?, months?, Khamul had been wandering through Numenor, speaking to some, observing others, and passing gold to loosen a few tongues. And had she learned anything from it? A bit, which she passed on to Sauron. He told her very little of what was going on in Armenelos, so she suspected he had not yet found a way to leave the dungeon. Things not going as well as you thought, she thought gleefully.  
*Khamul!* a voice pierced her head.  
I hope Sauron didn't hear all of that, Khamul thought. *What is it, lord?* she thought.  
*Pharazon has fallen. He is mine to command. Return to Armenelos. You need not wander through all of Numenor anymore; Pharazon's spies will do my bidding now.*  
So, he finally managed to do it, Khamul thought. I didn't think he would manage it. *I will return at once*  
Leaping back on her horse, Khamul turned it around and they sped away towards Armenelos. Khamul wasn't entirely certain where she was, though she knew she was circling Meneltarma. Ah well, she thought. I'll run into the city soon enough. It's not hard to miss.  
As night fell, the air cooled and began to rain. No, Khamul thought as she drew her cloak around her. It was not spring yet. Late winter, she guessed.   
The rain continued to pour, and finally Khamul couldn't see where she was going.  
"This is just ridiculous!" she snarled. "The road's nearly washed out! I need to find some shelter or I just might fall off and drown!" Or the horse'll break a leg and then I'll be walking to Armenelos, she thought.  
To her great happiness, a light flickered down a short dirt road that was rapidly turning to mud.   
Spurring her horse onwards, Khamul came to a small house at the end of the road. She was about to knock when a peculiar feeling came over her. Don't knock, it said. Check this place out first. Make sure it's safe.  
Trusting her instincts, Khamul dismounted, tied her horse to a tree not far away, and then crept to the nearest window. Inside, an old man and woman sat by a fire. The man was deep in sleep, and the woman was just starting to nod off. As Khamul watched, the knitting needles fell from her hands and her head dropped to her chest as she fell asleep.  
Nothing amiss here, Khamul thought, unless they turn into ogres when they're awakened.  
She walked around the house, glancing into any window she found. All were dark, save the last, in which a single candle flickered, starting to gutter out.  
So, three people in the house total, Khamul thought, looking in. And who's this one?  
A young man tossed and turned on his bed, obviously in the grips of some terrible nightmare. He had long brown hair and would have been quite handsome if his face wasn't contorted with terror.  
He looks vaguely familiar, Khamul thought, looking closer. Ah! No wonder! He's the Lord of the Andunie from Umbar! What's he doing here?   
Andunie was on the opposite side of Meneltarma from Armenelos. Did I really travel so far? Khamul thought. Further, actually. There was that horse near the front of the house. It was asleep as well, but I thought it looked a little fine for a house like this. This lord is just staying the night here before he continues to…Armenelos? Perhaps.   
Although, Khamul thought, I don't think he'll make it that far.   
She pulled a knife out of her belt and started feeling around the window, searching for a crack or a weak spot.   
No one escapes me twice, Khamul thought. I let you go the first time, Lord of the Andunie, but my mercy has run out.  
*Khamul!* Sauron's voice rang out clear and sharp in her head. *Do not kill anyone!*  
*But he is the Lord of the Andunie!* Khamul protested.   
*Do not kill him! He may be of use later! Everything is in place; do not jeopardize it with your vendetta!*  
Khamul sighed in irritation and sheathed her knife. He is coming to Armenelos, she thought, I'm sure of it. I'll kill him there, in a duel or something. Vorea will know the formalities.  
As she watched the lord, glaring bitterly all the while, he awoke suddenly with a start, his dark eyes wide and frightened. He gasped and drew in great gulps of air, but finally he seemed to regain control of himself. Then he glanced up, straight at the window.  
Khamul was quite certain he couldn't see her in the darkness, but she smiled nastily and waved before slipping away into the night.


	12. The Priest

What a pain it could be to have minions, Sauron thought as he shook his head at Khamul's stupidity. What had she been thinking? Murdering a lord of the Andunie the very night Pharazon released him? He would have been back in his cell faster than he could take a breath. Fortunately, the disaster had been averted. All was now well.  
Pharazon did not waste time, and neither did Vorea. Within fifteen minutes his third ringbearer was ready to serve, and within an hour the great temple to the Valar was empty.  
"It is like a graveyard in here," Vorea commented, glancing around at the empty niches, the barren altars, and the bare floors.  
"It will be full of things once again," Sauron said.   
Vorea frowned. "To the Valar?"  
Sauron laughed and shook his head. "To Melkor and I," he replied.  
Vorea's frown deepened. "My lord, I do not think it wise to raise a temple to such a monster as your former master. True, he is beyond the Door of Night in the Void, but still such adulations as you plan may awake him, or at least reach his ears."  
"Don't be a fool," Sauron said. "Melkor is as good as dead in the Void. There is nothing left of him."  
"He was a Vala, my lord. Such a creature cannot be taken lightly."  
Sauron whirled on her and glared. "Do you think I did not know what Melkor was?" he snarled. "I do not need to be told by a mere child what I lived through myself! He is dead. Gone. Forever. Never to return. What I do now will only weaken the Valar's powers while strengthening my own. That is all that will occur. All."  
Vorea nodded slowly. "Very well, my lord," she said. "Pay no heed to me. You are elder by far, and so much more wise."  
Sauron nodded and continued moving about the temple. "A statue here," he murmured, "and perhaps another altar here. And the king will wish to view the proceedings, so some seats will be needed…"  
The great bronze doors behind Vorea creaked open, and she whirled around, sword half-drawn.  
"Oh, sir knight, forgive me," a small Numenorean man said, bowing deeply. He was dressed in a dark robe, covered with small stitched runes. He was exceedingly pale and there was a tint of red in his dark eyes that flicked this way and that.   
"Who are you?" Vorea asked. There would be people who were unhappy Sauron had been freed, and it was her job to stop them from doing anything they might regret.  
"I am Agan, a priest," the man said, bowing again. "I wish to know if it is true that the lord Sauron has been released from his imprisonment."  
"It is," Sauron said, walking over. "You are a priest, you say," he said as Agan fell to his knees in worship. "Of whom?"  
"The lord Melkor," Agan said. "You are His chosen, I will follow you to the end. Command me, and I will obey."  
Sauron nodded. "Very well," he said. "I will need a loyal follower to make this into a temple for Melkor," he said, gesturing to the room.  
"I will make it grand, oh lord!" Agan swore.  
"Good," Sauron said. "These floors need cleaning, and there is much other work in the temple that needs doing. You are in charge of all of it."  
"My lord, you do me too much honor," Agan said, bowing again before hurrying about his task.  
"Take whatever money you need from the king's treasury," Sauron said. He smirked. "Spare no expense."  
"I will not, my lord!"  
"You have a Numenorean follower now," Vorea said. "Will you give him a ring?"  
"Him?" Sauron snorted. "No. He's a fanatic, a blind fool. I'll manipulate him like a puppet, but I will not give him a ring."  
Vorea nodded, relieved that Agan was not joining their ranks.   
A middle-aged woman hurried down the corridor, passed them, then hurried back towards them.  
"I'm looking for a woman named Vorea," she said. "I am Ceure."  
"I am Vorea, but why are you looking for me?" Vorea asked, stepping forward.  
"Khamul sent me for a ring," Ceure said, drawing herself up to her full height and composing herself. "I'm afraid I had to jump the wall. The guards are after me."  
Vorea glanced at Sauron.   
She does like to take the initiative, that Haradrim, Sauron thought. Still, I trust her judgment, for this at least. She would not let some fool in, or have her mind blinded by some sad story. Still, I need to test this one.  
"Why do you want a ring?" Sauron asked. "What do you think it will give you?"  
"Power," Ceure snarled. "I will take a ring and I will punish those who have wronged me. My treacherous brother for one."  
"Is that the only reason you want a ring?" Sauron asked. "For power? Is that all?"  
"Yes," Ceure said. "I have no want of immortality or any of that. All I have ever wanted in my life – and it has been a long life indeed; I am pure-blooded Numenorean – is power to control my own destiny. For my entire life it has been denied me; I will not pass up this last chance now!"  
Sauron smiled and handed her a golden ring set with a sapphire. "Take it," he said. "And you needn't worry about the guards if they should find you. Just follow us, and all will be well."  
Ceure nodded and slipped the ring on her finger. "Strange," she muttered, "I don't feel any different."  
"It does not affect you physically," Sauron said. "Unless, of course, you are attacked. And then you will not be harmed."  
"A useful thing."  
"Indeed," Sauron said. "Though I do hope you will never need it."  
"I'm no fool," Ceure said. "I know what you're up to. And I have no liking for Numenor, land of my birth though it may be. It has grown proud and corrupt in its old age. It is time for change."  
"I'm so glad we can see eye to eye on this," Sauron said.   
Ceure nodded and smiled, while Vorea wrestled with inner doubt. If Numenor falls, it will be with the grace of the Valar, she thought. They would not allow such a thing to happen if it were against their will. We are merely fulfilling their great plan, not going against it.


	13. The Heir of Valandil

It was a bright, clear, cold morning when Khamul rode into Armenelos. To her great surprise, the guards swung the gates of the palace wide when she approached, and even bowed respectfully.  
"What madness is this?" Khamul muttered, urging her horse faster through the gate. Her hand clenched her sword, wondering if a trap was about to be sprung.  
"Ah, my lieutenant returns," Sauron said, walking forward from the gardens.  
"What is going on here?" Khamul asked, dismounting and hurrying over to the Maia. "Has the world gone mad?"  
"No," Sauron said, "just Numenor."  
"They let you out? Why? Is the king an imbecile?"  
"As I said, the king has fallen. He is little more than my puppet now," Sauron said.  
"And this Isildur?" Khamul asked suspiciously.  
"He will be mine soon," Sauron said with a smile. "And then we need only one more ringbearer."  
"And then we can return to Middle-Earth, away from this wretched land," Khamul snarled.  
"You do not really like traveling, do you?" Sauron commented. "Never mind. But it is necessary to stay in Numenor until it falls."  
"It's crumbling about the edges already."  
"Yes, and I have increased the crumblings. But a strong leader could pull it back together. That must not happen. Understand?"  
"Perfectly," Khamul said. It means I spend more time here, either being shunned and mocked, or being treated with suspicious respect. "Why did the guards bow to me?" she asked.   
"I told them you would be arriving one of these days and that you were to be treated with the utmost respect," Sauron said.   
"I see," Khamul said.  
"You don't seem pleased."  
"That's because I'm not. I don't trust these people. They are too fickle, too ever-changing. I don't like that."  
"Then you will like what I have to say next even less," Sauron said. "Pharazon and his court have abandoned the Valar and are now worshipping my former lord."  
"Melkor?"  
"The same. News of such things travels fast, and now from the depths of his halls the greatest foe either of us have is traveling with all speed towards Armenelos."  
"Who?" Khamul asked.  
"His name is Elendil, son of Amandil, heir of Valandil, son of Silmarien, descendent of Elros, son of Earendil, son of Tuor and Idril Celebrindil, and also son of Elwing, daughter of Dior, son of Beren and Luthien. I think I hardly need explain the significance of this to you."  
"Well, this Elendil fellow certainly has a lineage to live up to," Khamul said. "But I fail to see how he is our greatest enemy. Surely that would be the Valar, or someone with close connections to Pharazon's court?"  
"Elendil has close connections to the court, and to Pharazon himself," Sauron said. "He is the heir of the Lord of Andunie, ruler of that land. His father is on his last legs and will soon die, then Elendil will inherit the title."  
"Is he the man I saw in Umbar?" Khamul asked, cursing the day she let the man live.  
"No," Sauron said, shaking his head. "There are many minor lords of that land, but Amandil rules over them all. And Elendil is proving to be a stronger man even than his father."  
"Yet his son is Isildur, who is weak."  
"Yes, strange how it works," Sauron said. "Also – curse his soul – Elendil has connections with Gil-Galad in Lindon. Do you realize what this means? Metima tells me that the settlers are re-grouping and rebuilding from our destruction. There are enough of them throughout Middle-Earth that if Elendil were to come to that land, he could raise an army. An army that would soon be joined by Gil-Galad and his elves. That would spell disaster. Orcs and ogres alike are gathering under my banner, but that is not nearly enough. Goblins harry the elves, but they do no real damage. Alone, Gil-Galad will do nothing until it is too late. But with Elendil's human impatience, the two could form a strong force quickly, and crush Mordor."  
"This is indeed grave," Khamul said. "Shall I kill him?"  
"No," Sauron said. "I wish him dead, but it is not the right time. Pharazon and his court are under my control, and Armenelos is falling, but the death of such a prominent man would weaken or even shatter it. I am close now to succeeding, but I want nothing to mess it up. First I need to drag Elendil down, make him a public enemy. Then you can kill him."  
"I understand," Khamul said. "Yet he is coming here, is already on his way. What do we do when he arrives?"  
"You are going to speak with him," Sauron said. "He is a rather enlightened man, so you'll hear no snide remarks from him. Keep him distracted. Lie. I doubt it can be done, but try to win him to our side."  
"You are far better at words than I," Khamul said. "Why can't you do this?"  
"Because he knows who I am," Sauron said. "He knows what I will do to Numenor if given the chance. Every word that comes out of my mouth he will disregard. But with you, we have a chance."  
"I understand," Khamul said.   
In two days the gates of the palace swung wide to admit another horseman. But this was a tall, very tall, human with brown hair and a beard, and gray eyes.   
"Welcome to Armenelos," Khamul said, walking out of the shadows of the garden. "You are Elendil, son of Amandil, are you not?"  
"I am," the man said. "Forgive me, lady, but I do not recall seeing a proud Haradrim warrior woman on my last visit to this city. What brings you here?"  
"I am Khamul of Haradwaith," Khamul said. "I came here to see the sights, and ended up staying for the good company of the court, who have graciously taken me in."  
"I am surprised by that," Elendil said. "You see, I have been in this court before, and I found them most unaccommodating to the different races of our world."  
Khamul laughed. I don't like this diplomacy stuff, she thought. What I want to do is just stick a dagger in his gut and be done with it. Still, he's a damn more respectful man than any of the others out there. "You have been away from court too long, Lord Elendil," she said. "Things are different around here."  
"So I have heard," Elendil said grimly. "Please, Lady Khamul, call me Elendil. My father has not yet passed away, and I am merely a minor lord of the Andunie. But, please, tell me if it is true. Has the king released Sauron?"  
"Yes, that is true."  
"I must honor the king's decision, but I disagree strongly with it," Elendil said. "Sauron is a known deceiver and liar throughout the ages. He was Morgoth's right-hand man in the First Age. He betrayed the Valar to join with the Dark Lord. He cannot be trusted."  
"I did not make the decision to free him," Khamul said.  
"Indeed not. Forgive me, my lady. I must speak with the king on this manner immediately. If you will excuse me." Elendil bowed and hurried towards the palace proper, his long strides covering the ground quickly.  
Interesting man, Khamul thought. I doubt he will change the king's mind though.  
A few hours later, after prowling through the gardens, Khamul found Elendil sitting on a marble bench before Nimloth, lost in contemplation.  
"The meeting did not go well then?" Khamul guessed.  
"No, Lady Khamul, it did not," Elendil said gravely. "The king…" He glanced up at Khamul with suspicion in his eyes. "Forgive me, my lady, but I must know. Do you support the king?"  
"I am a loyal citizen of Numenor," Khamul lied.  
"But the king's policies, do you support them?"  
Khamul considered this. How to answer? "No, I fear that of late they seem increasingly strange," she said.   
"He has dedicated a temple to Morgoth!" Elendil exclaimed. "Iluvatar alone knows the havoc that could wreak. Why, it may even awaken the Dark Vala in the Void! It would bring doom upon Numenor! How could the king be so foolish?"  
"Be careful, Lord Elendil," Khamul said. "Those are treasonous words."  
"I care not," Elendil snarled. "The king has gone too far. He married his own cousin by force, and still the Lords of the Andunie stood behind him, albeit grudgingly. He increased royal spending, still we supported him. He allowed Umbar and New Haven to be destroyed through neglect of the forces stationed there, and yet still we were there, giving him money, not daring to rebel. But this! This is the final straw! Sauron was to be executed upon Numenorean soil! He was to be dead by now! Or as dead as a Maia can be. But instead he roams free among the halls, raising a temple to Morgoth, and corrupting the court with his lies!"  
"And what will you do, Lord Elendil?" Khamul asked.  
"I have no choice," Elendil said. "The king has clearly gone mad, or lost his will to Sauron. The Lords of the Andunie will rebel."  
"My lord!"  
"Yes, it is bold action, but it is necessary. This evil must be rooted out once and for all," Elendil said. "My Lady Khamul, this land will soon grow dangerous. Would you accompany me to Andunie?"  
"I will consider it, Lord Elendil," Khamul said. Good opportunity, or not, she thought. It seems good, but dangerous.  
"I leave on the morrow," Elendil said. "Meet me by the palace gate if you will come."  
"My thanks, Lord Elendil," Khamul said, hurrying away. She could hardly contain her excitement as she slipped through the corridors and hallways of the palace, hoping to conceal where she was headed.  
"Any news?" Sauron asked as she burst into the temple.  
"A great deal," Khamul said with a grin. "Elendil is going to rebel against Pharazon. He is returning to Andunie tomorrow and planning to lead his people against the king."  
"Is he indeed?" Sauron asked with a smile, raising an eyebrow.   
"And he has offered to allow me to accompany him there."  
Sauron grinned. "An excellent opportunity for spying, yes?"  
"I thought so," Khamul said, grinning.  
"But unnecessary."  
"Eh?"  
"Well," Sauron said with a cunning look, "it seems that Elendil has just been declared a traitor to the crown. After all, rebellion is an act of treachery. And as a traitor, he will be executed without delay. I shall go inform the guards to arrest him immediately."  
The greatest enemy, defeated, Khamul thought. She watched out of the temple window as a dozen guards surrounded Elendil where he sat, contemplating his course of action in front of Nimloth. They arrested him and then marched him off to the dungeons.  
"He will be leaving tomorrow," Sauron said as he returned to the temple. "Leaving this world, that is."  
"And so falls our greatest enemy," Khamul said.  
Sauron nodded, smiling smugly. "And even sweeter is that Isildur has turned against his father. He has declared his allegiance for the king and denounced Elendil."  
"He will be the chief of the ringbearers then?" Khamul asked.  
"Yes, indeed," Sauron said.  
"I am pleased that such a skilled man will lead us," Khamul said with a beaming smile.  
The smile was not one Sauron was accustomed to seeing on Khamul, but he paid it no heed, thinking she was genuinely pleased.   
"If my lord would excuse me for the rest of the day, I would like some rest," Khamul said.  
"Certainly," Sauron said. "Ceure and Vorea are enough to keep this place free from unwanted individuals."  
"Excellent," Khamul said, her tone just a shade darker than usual.


	14. Escape

It was nearing midnight. In a few hours his father would die. Isildur tossed and turned, wrestling with his thoughts. He meant to stay on in Armenelos as part of the king's guard in order to send information to Amandil and the other lords. But the cost was high. Was there some way he could speak to his father again? Was there some way in all Arda he could get him out?  
The guilt weighing on him like lead, Isildur rose from bed, donned his armor and hurried out into the night.   
What do I mean to do? he thought. I'm not sure of it myself. But I do know this; Sauron is not what he said he was. He's been lying to us all along, and to me especially. I don't know what he wants from me, but it can't be anything good.  
Isildur, shrouded by the black cape of the king's guards, passed another shrouded shadow without the two seeing each other. Isildur was headed out for the gardens to take in some fresh air, while the other was headed towards the dungeons.  
With two quick stabs of her knife, Khamul killed Elendil's guards.  
"Get up!" she hissed, rattling the cell bars after she had opened the door.   
"What? Who are you?" Elendil asked, leaping to his feet. "Ah, Lady Khamul, this is indeed fortuitous."  
"No, it isn't," Khamul said. "Here are your sword and belongings. Take them, get a horse, and get out of here."  
"Why are you doing this? Will you accompany me?"  
"No! Just leave! Now! What I do, I do for my own interests. Now hurry!"  
"This cannot be a trap," Elendil said warily.  
"No, it's not! What for? You're condemned to die anyway."  
"My son…"  
"Has denounced you. Now leave!"  
With only a single backwards glance, Elendil snatched his things and bolted up the stairs.   
Excellent, Khamul thought, sneaking out of the dungeons a few minutes after him. Now, to find Isildur and forever blot him out of Sauron's mind. After all, a corpse can't be the leader of the ringbearers.  
Stealthy as a mouse, Khamul crept towards the guards' chambers. The king's guards had their own rooms, marked with their name. But Isildur's stood ajar, and Khamul could tell at a glance that it was empty.  
Snarling a curse, Khamul hurried towards the garden, that being the only place she could think of that the young lord could be.  
"Taking in some night air?" Khamul growled. "It's not good for you, you know."  
As for Isildur, he was watching Nimloth sway in the night breeze when he heard the clatter of hoofs and looked up in time to see his father slay two guards and throw the gate open before dashing off into Armenelos.  
He's escaped, Isildur thought. The king will blame me for this, I'm sure of it. My life is forfeit if I remain here. I must leave. Return to Andunie. If I hurry, I may be able to catch up with my father.  
But the moonlight falling on Nimloth's blossoms distracted Isildur, caught his eye.   
Nimloth is a sacred tree, he thought. Sauron is an unholy being. The two cannot coincide. And since it is Sauron who holds power, the scion of Telperion is in grave danger indeed.  
Reaching out, Isildur plucked a single silver fruit from the tree and hide it inside his tunic. Now, he thought, to make my escape.  
"You're not going anywhere!" Khamul snarled, raising Vorea's spear, which she had 'borrowed' from the temple where the third ringbearer had left it.  
"No! I am a servant of the king!" Isildur exclaimed.  
"Sure you are," Khamul hissed, hurling the spear at Isildur. He dodged the worst of it, but the tip grazed his ribs. Crying out and stumbling, Isildur ran for the gate.  
"Traitor!" Khamul shouted at the top of her lungs. "Archers to the walls! Kill him!"  
There was a flurry of activity along the palace walls, and soon arrows began to fly. The Valar were with Isildur that night, for the vast majority missed him, though many wounded him, one even sticking his arm, and another his calf.  
Cursing the Numenoreans for fools and idiots, Khamul drew her own sword and dashed off to slay the son of Elendil herself. But when she reached the gates of the palace, she could not see Isildur anywhere.  
"Where did he go?" Khamul muttered, looking this way and that.  
A sword whistled out of the darkness and struck her across the head, but because of the ring, all it did was give Khamul a little jolt and sent her stumbling back.  
"Thrice-damned wraith!" Isildur snarled, sheathing his sword and running for his life, arrows whistling around him.   
By the time Khamul recovered, it was too late. The son of Elendil, and Elendil himself were gone. Oh well, she thought. It's not exactly what I wanted, but close enough. I can still blame Elendil's escape on Isildur.


	15. First Sacrifice

"How did this happen?" Sauron asked softly the next morning. "He was in a cell, guarded by two of the most experienced guards. How did he escape?"  
"My lord, someone slew the guards and freed Elendil," Vorea said.  
"Yes, but who?" Sauron asked, tapping the stone altar.   
"Isildur," Khamul said.  
"No," Sauron said, shaking his head. "He is under my sway."  
"Yet he is gone," Khamul pointed out. He doesn't suspect anything, she thought gleefully. He doesn't know it was me.  
Sauron frowned. "Yes, that is a troublesome point. I still think Elendil was freed by someone else and then took his son with him."  
"But if he was so under your sway, he would have put up a fight. There was no sign of a struggle in his room. And his sword was gone."  
"But much of his armor was not," Vorea said. "I think he stepped out for a stroll and never returned."  
Khamul shrugged. "Well, it just seems a bit strange. Elendil gone, and so is his son. The simplest explanation is usually correct."  
"This cannot be tolerated," Sauron snarled. "Elendil and his sons have been declared traitors by the king. That is not enough though. When he returns to Andunie, the lords there will protect him, and follow him as well, likely."  
"Declare them all traitors then," Vorea said.  
"All of them. Now there's a thought," Sauron mused. He slowly grinned. "Yes. The Andunie are faithful to the Valar. Declare them traitors, and their faith will fall, too, the Numenoreans fearful that they will be next. And we need something particularly awful for them to be fearful of."  
Khamul watched Sauron think, tapping the stone altar unconsciously. Sauron glanced over at her and the grin widened.  
"I have my answer," he said.  
"Eh? What is it?" Khamul asked.  
"There are two minor lords of the Andunie in Armenelos. I shall have them arrested at once."  
"What of the one I saw on the way here?" Khamul asked.  
"He will be arrested when he arrives," Sauron said. "A spy saw him delayed by a washed-out road. He will be here soon, too late to turn back after what has happened."  
"And what will happen?"  
"Arrest the lords. I will have Pharazon sign some warrants." Sauron walked out of the temple, a spring in his step.  
"What do you think he's up to?" Khamul asked.  
Vorea shrugged. "Not anything I wish to know about," she said. "Let us find these lords. On a different subject, I found my spear halfway across the temple from where I had left it."  
"Did you?" Khamul asked. Damn. I knew I'd forgotten something.  
"There was blood on it as well, which was odd," Vorea said. "Just a little. I would not have paid it much attention save that I cleaned it just that day. It is almost like someone took it that night and used it to attack someone. Why…that was the night Isildur and Elendil fled. Curious, is it not?"  
"Very much so," Khamul said.   
"I see no reason to pursue any leads however," Vorea said. "I am content with thinking it was the fault of my memory."  
Khamul smiled. "The memory plays strange tricks," she agreed.  
The two walked through the halls of Armenelos, looking for the two minor lords. I'm sure Vorea knows what they look like, Khamul thought, 'cause I sure don't.  
"Khamul," Vorea said after several minutes. "Are you acquainted with these lords?"  
"No. Are you?"  
"No, and that is the problem. I do not know who they are."  
Khamul sighed. "Right, let's go talk to Sauron."  
"What are you two doing wandering about?" Ceure asked, walking up. She was a different woman than Khamul had seen in the house. Ceure stood tall, head held high, a sword – which she had become reasonably proficient in – buckled around her waist.   
"We're looking for two lords of the Andunie," Khamul said.  
"Ah," Ceure said, nodding. "I heard Elendil had escaped. And Isildur, too, if the rumors are not wrong."  
"They aren't," Khamul said. "You wouldn't happen to know where those lords are, would you?"  
Ceure grinned smugly. "I heard about Elendil's escape early this morning, and I made it my mission to find any other lords of his land in the palace."  
Khamul grinned. She had not been wrong in selecting Ceure for a ring. "Where are they?" she asked.  
"Right here. They're discussing things," Ceure said, gesturing towards a nearby room. "I haven't been able to hear what they're talking about, but I've made sure they haven't moved."   
"Excellent," Khamul said. "Ready, Vorea?"  
"I am always ready," Vorea replied, loosening her sword in its sheath.  
"Are you going to arrest them?" Ceure asked.  
Khamul nodded. "Anyone from Andunie is a traitor to the throne," she said. "They can thank Elendil for what's coming to them."  
"And what is coming to them?"  
"Eh, well, Sauron's got that all planned out."  
Pushing open the door, the three ringbearers quickly surrounded the two lords. They were fairly young and strong, but not armed, and jumped to their feet as the armed women approached.  
"Who are you?" one asked.  
"We're the people who're going to arrest you," Khamul said.   
"What? That's madness!" the other exclaimed. "We haven't done anything wrong!"  
"Are you lords of the Andunie?" Khamul asked.  
"Yes, but…" the first began.  
"Then you are under arrest for high treason against his majesty, Ar-Pharazon the Golden," Khamul said, enjoying the thrill of power she received.  
The two lords protested, but a sharp look from Vorea quickly silenced them.   
"This knot'll hold," Ceure promised as she bound the lords' hands behind their back. "I used to tie my horse to a tree using this knot. There's no way in all Arda they'll be able to get out of it."  
"No escaping for you two," Khamul said. "Now, let's take them to the dungeon. I do believe they've changed the guards since that unfortunate breakout. Oh," she said, a sudden, wicked idea coming upon her. "I don't suppose you two would have had anything to do with Elendil and Isildur?"  
"Now that is an idea!" Vorea exclaimed. "It makes perfect sense."  
"Four lords of the Andunie, all under the same roof," Khamul said. "Two escape, and two stay. I wonder what happened. And I wonder when you two were going to flee. Soon, maybe? This very day, perhaps?"  
"You've got it all wrong!" the first lord exclaimed.  
"We haven't done anything!" the second protested.  
"Tell that to the king," Khamul said.  
After depositing the prisoners in the well-guarded dungeon, the three ringbearers headed for the throne room.  
"Ah, wait," Ceure said, holding out a hand to stop the other two.  
"What is it?" Khamul asked. "Trouble?" she asked, starting to draw her sword.  
"No. A procession."  
"A what?"  
"A procession. Like a religious procession. People in fancy clothes and whatnot."  
Khamul nodded slowly and relaxed her grip. "What are they having a procession for?" she asked.  
"We shall see," Vorea said, slipping into the shadows along with the others.  
Around the corner came Ar-Pharazon, resplendent in robes woven of pure gold. The crown of Numenor, made of pure mithril, glittered on his head. Next to him walked Miriel, a rather small woman, who made Khamul hiss in stabbing envy. Next to her, Khamul's visions of elves were nothing. The queen's midnight hair sparkled with a net of diamonds that had been placed over it. Her skin was creamy, her lips as red as a rose. Her eyes were a deep gray common in the Numenoreans. She wore a beautiful green and blue dress that shimmered as she walked.  
"That is the queen?" Vorea whispered. "Rather she appears to be a Vala descended to our lands."  
"Why do the elfbloods have all the luck?" Khamul snarled in fury.  
Behind the king and queen, Sauron walked, dressed in fine black and red robes. Agan scurried behind him, cloaked and with a cowl drawn over his head to hide his face. He wasn't about to trust the immunity granted to him by Sauron's protection.  
Sauron caught his ringbearers' eyes and nodded subtly in the direction the procession was headed. Khamul nodded.  
"We're to follow him," she whispered to the others.  
"It's a very long procession," Ceure said. "Where do you suppose it's headed?"   
"The temple, I believe," Vorea said, glancing down the corridor. "Ah, it is now coming to an end. I believe we can safely sneak into the back of the procession without being spotted."  
"Not that that would matter," Khamul said. "We're Sauron's loyal servants. No one cares about us."  
"He was subtle enough about it that I do not think he wants us to make some kind of fuss," Vorea said, stepping out of the shadows and into the back of the procession behind two chattering court ladies.  
The procession was indeed headed to the temple. The chairs that Vorea and Ceure had painstakingly placed around the altar were filling up with lords and ladies, while two grand seats were taken up by the king and queen themselves.   
"Still too few seats," Vorea muttered, glancing around. "I guess we will have to stand."  
"Guard the doors," Khamul said. "I wonder what he's up to," she muttered, watching Sauron, who stood in the middle of the room. Agan was off to the side, hidden in the shadows of the room, watching his master with a rapturous expression.  
"My king," Sauron said, his voice carrying to every part of the room, bouncing off the walls and reverberating. "My queen." He bowed deeply to the royal couple. Pharazon looked intrigued, Miriel looked bored, even a little sickened.  
"The queen does not look well," Vorea commented.   
"Hardly surprising," Ceure said. "The king's a pig."  
"We have all heard of the treachery of the Lords of the Andunie," Sauron said, gazing from face to face. "Elendil, charged with treason against the crown, was to be executed this very day. Yet he is gone."  
There were hisses from the court. Snarls of 'traitor' and 'treachery'. All were directed against Elendil.  
"There were two other lords of Andunie in the palace that night," Sauron said. He was leaving Isildur entirely out of it. So he still wants him to be the chief ringbearer, Khamul thought angrily. We'll see about that.   
"Traitors!" someone shouted from the audience. "They should be killed!"  
"All in good time, lord, all in good time," Sauron said, holding up his hands for silence. "My king, the actions of these reckless lords have cost you a valuable prisoner. What is your judgment?"  
"Death," Pharazon said without hesitation.  
"What folly is this?" Vorea murmured. "No trial? Nothing? Not even to let the prisoners speak for themselves?"  
"Quiet," Khamul hissed, nudging her in the ribs.  
"I quite agree," Sauron said, bowing to the king. "But I beg a favor from you, oh sire. That is why I have called you and your court into the temple. By your gracious favor, this temple has been rebuilt. It is now complete. And what better way to seal the completion than with a sacrifice?"  
Pharazon raised his eyebrow. Miriel gasped and raised her hand to her mouth.  
"I ask you, great king, to allow me to sacrifice those two lords to Melkor," Sauron said, bowing deeply. "It will bring us the great lord's favor, and allow me to continue in my efforts to bring you and your chosen immortality."  
There was much chatter amongst the court. 'Immortality' and 'never dying' were the most frequent words whispered back and forth, along with 'the king's chosen? Are we that? Are you sure?'  
Excited, aren't they? Khamul thought bitterly, leaning back against the wall of the temple. Bastards.  
"Do so," Pharazon said. "Sacrifice these treacherous men to please the Lord Melkor. And may he bless all those here today with his gift of eternal life."  
Sauron's puppet the king may be, Khamul thought, but he does know what to say to a crowd. They're putty in his hands right now. I didn't know Numenoreans' weakness was immortality. Usually it's money.  
Sauron bowed again and nodded to Agan, who hurried off, no doubt to fetch the prisoners. He returned in a few moments; Sauron must've had them waiting outside.   
Prodded by Agan, the two lords walked forward, glaring balefully at the assembled audience. They had been stripped to their breeches and Ceure's knot still held their hands behind their back. Sauron had also added a gag, making sure they didn't say anything displeasing.  
Sauron nodded again to Agan, who pushed one lord forward, while holding onto the other.  
With surprising speed, Sauron snatched the lord and threw him face-up onto the table. At the same moment, he drew a curved ceremonial black dagger.   
"Accept this offering, Melkor," he whispered, gazing towards the heavens before bringing the dagger down, and with one swift motion, cutting out the man's heart. He then held up for all to see. It beat one last time before stopping.  
A few of the court ladies turned away at the grisly sight, but they soon joined in the chorus of "Death to traitors!" which was being shouted throughout the room.  
Pushing the corpse off the altar, Sauron reached out for the second lord, and before the man could shake off his horror, he found himself on the wet and sticky altar, looking up at the ceiling where there had previously been a depiction of the Valar, but now was nothing but solid black.  
The queen was holding her head in her hands when the second lord lost his heart. The king looked forward eagerly, expecting immortality to be handed to him on a silver platter. He might not have been far off. Sauron did indeed have a silver platter, onto which he placed the hearts of the lords.  
"The hearts of traitors, my king," he offered, kneeling before Pharazon's throne.  
"Weak and cowardly," Pharazon sneered. "You have done well, Sauron."  
"Please, sire, call me the High Priest," Sauron said.   
Pharazon nodded. "High Priest of Melkor," he said. "You have done well."  
There was applause from the audience, although a few looked like they were about to lose their lunches, or had already lost them.  
"I hope we don't have to clean that up," Ceure said. "That is a job for servants."  
"I think Sauron will be getting more than enough servants to help with such things after a performance like that," Khamul said. She glanced at Vorea. "What did you think?"  
"I found it vile," Vorea said. "No good can come of this."  
"No good is intended to. Remember?"  
"I remember," Vorea said. "But I still find it a bad omen to be worshipping a damned and cruel deity."  
Khamul shook her head. "Come on, let's get out of here before we're either conscripted into helping clean up, or trampled by hordes of perfume-soaked lords and ladies."


	16. The Burning Tree

"Well, there hasn't really been all that much damage," Ceure reported that evening. "One man threw up in a fish pond, but that's about it."  
"Some people can't hold onto their lunches," Khamul said. "It's just a bit of blood and gore. Numenor is the warrior's country. Strange how these 'warriors' don't have much in the way of a warrior's stomach."  
"Yes, it is amusing," Ceure said. "Anyway, Sauron's plans are going without a hitch. No problems whatsoever. In fact, Pharazon's spies are now rooting out the Faithful in Armenelos and arresting them as we speak."  
"Faithful?" Vorea asked.  
"Those who still follow the old ways of the Valar and elves," Khamul explained. "Oh well, nothing gets people together like persecuting other people. And when it's people we want out of the way, what's the harm?"  
"The Valar will retaliate," Vorea warned.  
"No, they won't," Khamul said. "Just stop with the dire predictions, all right?"  
Vorea sighed. "It is an ill day for Numenor."  
"No, an ill day for Numenor would be if there was a giant tsunami," Khamul said.  
"That may not be far off. Did Varda not drown Beleriand?"  
"I don't know, I've never heard the tale," Khamul said.   
Days passed, and Khamul prowled the palace daily for any sign of the lord of the Andunie from Umbar. He must have arrived by now, she thought. And she would recognize him. She was sure of that. Grudgingly, she began to admit that he was likely fleeing with all speed back to Andunie, the hounds of Pharazon close at his heels. How unfortunate. Khamul wanted to be the one who ended his life.  
Andunie was the king's property now, the former lords now declared traitors. The king's troops were starting to move into the area, despite being hindered by well-aimed arrows, several of which had the distinctive black-and-silver fletching of Elendil and his sons.   
"It's a guerrilla war now," Vorea reported one morning several weeks later. The Faithful were being sacrificed nearly every day, to the joy of Armenelos. Khamul wondered if it could have been possible for the city to fall faster than it had. She doubted it.  
"Are we winning?" Khamul asked.  
"It is difficult to win a guerrilla war," Vorea said with a sigh. "But we have burned their ships so they cannot escape the island. And we capture more Faithful every day."  
"We're making progress," Khamul said. "Anything new on Sauron's mind?"  
"I would think you should know," Vorea said. "You being the lieutenant."  
Khamul shrugged. "He has his business in the temple these days. I rarely see him."  
"I do not like this business," Vorea said. "It is not just the sacrifices. These people are vile. They disgust my very soul."  
"They're all be dead soon," Khamul assured her. "We're going to bring Numenor down, all the way down."  
"I hope you are correct," Vorea said. "By the Valar!" she gasped, running to the window.  
"What is it?" Khamul asked, running over.   
Vorea, too shocked for words, pointed at a white tree that was being ripped from the ground. Silver petals fell from the tree as its roots were brutally torn away.   
"Can't imagine that going over too well," Khamul muttered.  
"Strangely enough, it was the king's own suggestion," Sauron said, startling them.   
"My lord," Vorea said, bowing. "What is the meaning of this?"  
"The meaning is that Nimloth is the symbol of the Valar and elves. In order to cleanse Armenelos of the creatures, Pharazon suggested we burn it." Sauron smiled. "It was not even a thought of mine that I had implanted in his brain. Great evil can come from it without my aid, it seems."  
The three watched as the Numenoreans dragged the tree across the garden towards the temple.  
"They are going to burn it," Sauron said. "I should be there when they do so. It is a sacred object, after all. The protection of the Valar may be upon it, though that did not save its predecessor."  
"I cannot believe this," Vorea whispered as Sauron walked away. "That tree is the very heart of Numenor. They cannot do this!"  
"But they are," Khamul said. "It does not matter," she said. "It's just a tree."  
The 'just a tree' left a black smoke over the city for seven days. It filled the corridors of the palace, and would not leave despite the best efforts of the servants.   
"Just a tree, eh?" Vorea muttered on the fourth day.  
"The cursed smoke," Khamul gasped. "It won't leave!"   
"We are cursed," Vorea said solemnly. "Cursed for burning the tree of the Valar."  
"We aren't cursed!" Khamul snarled. "It's just the tree. Just the damn tree. Something wrong with the wood, that's all."  
On the seventh day after the burning of Nimloth, the black smoke suddenly departed on a mighty wind, heading towards the west, and Valinor.   
"Well, that's that with that," Khamul muttered, walking outside for the first time in days. Despite the choking horror of the hallways, the outside had been far, far worse.   
Breathing in deeply, Khamul smiled. Not so mighty, are you? she thought, sneering at the Valar.   
The garden had been repaired since Nimloth's uprooting, and a small pond had replaced the tree in the center of a ring of flowers. The marble bench was still there, and it was not empty, even at the early time of day that Khamul had gone for her walk.  
A young woman of the court sat on the bench, looking towards the gates of the palace, fluttering a silk fan and looking – in Khamul's opinion at least – rather silly.  
"I'm glad the smoke is gone," she said. "It was very difficult to be out here then."  
"You were outside?" Khamul gasped. What a fool! she thought.  
"Oh yes," the woman said, nodding. "I'm waiting for my brother. I long to see my family again, and he said he would come." She frowned, unhappy. "It was probably the smoke that deterred him. He will be along soon. He promised."  
Khamul shrugged. "This whole land is descending into madness," she muttered, walking away. Human sacrifice, tree burning, then insanity among the ladies of the court. Was there no end to the madness of Numenor?


	17. To Seduce a Queen

It was the eighth day after Nimloth was burned. Sauron was preparing his masterstroke against the Valar, and Numenor, for he knew what the response would be from Valinor. Pharazon was almost ready, but first there was one more person who still held the king's ear, who could turn him from Sauron's plan.  
Tar-Miriel, now Ar-Zimraphel, was the symbol of the Faithful's struggle now that Nimloth was no more. It was Sauron's intention to win her to his side, no matter the cost.  
Pharazon was busy with some long war council, Agan was tending to the matters of the temple, leaving Sauron free to pursue his winning of the queen.  
Quietly he crept to her door and listened intently. Miriel was there with her maids. Well, that would never do. She had to be alone.  
How unfortunate this would be were I a mortal, or even an elf, Sauron thought, inserting thoughts of other duties into the maids' minds. They quickly made apologies to the queen before hurrying off, the sheer scope of what they had left to accomplish causing them to move with haste.   
Excellent, Sauron thought, slipping into Miriel's chamber, shutting the door behind him. He locked it then, but it didn't really matter. If he didn't want to be disturbed, he would simply cause the approaching person to forget what they wanted with the queen.  
"Is that you, Inara?" Miriel asked. She was sitting in front of a mirror, adjusting the net of shining diamonds that held her hair. "You all ran out so quickly."  
"My doing, I'm afraid," Sauron said.  
Miriel leapt to her feet and looked at Sauron with defiance, but also fear. A great deal of fear. "So you have come for me at last," she said. "I cannot say I did not expect it. Was it the king's decision to have me sacrificed on your altar? Or was it something you will tell him later?"  
"Ah, you have mistaken my intentions, lady queen," Sauron said. "I do not wish you dead."  
"I rather think you do," Miriel said. She folded her arms across her chest. "What do you want then? I doubt you ordered my maids away and snuck into my chamber for any honorable purpose."  
Sauron smiled. "It depends on what you think an honorable purpose is."  
"Leave," Miriel said sternly.  
"No," Sauron said, taking a step closer to her. "You despise my sacrifices."  
"They are vile!"  
"You speak to the king about imprisoning me again."  
"You are a monster! A servant to the darkest of monsters!"  
"You are a leader of the Faithful, if only a figurehead."  
"I am a figurehead in everything!" Miriel screamed suddenly, losing any semblance of control she had. She swung a punch at Sauron, but he caught her and tossed her onto her bed.   
"Yes, you are," Sauron said quietly. "It is a shame, isn't it? You lost your throne to your cousin. You have lost everything. So much for the great queens of Numenor."  
"You do not understand," Miriel sobbed, trying to get up, but falling back. "You could never understand."  
"Perhaps I understand better than you think," Sauron whispered, sitting down next to her and even placing an arm around her shoulder.  
"Leave me," Miriel whispered.  
"My queen," Sauron said sweetly, "tell me what is bothering you. I will do everything in my power to aid you."  
"You will only make it worse," Miriel said.   
"I think I may be able to help."  
Miriel sighed. "It is Pharazon," she said.  
"Go on," Sauron said, nodding encouragingly.   
Miriel paused to wipe a tear from her eye. "He takes me to bed every night," she sobbed. "Every night! I despise him. He is a monster. And all this for an heir, which I cannot have."  
"It is not you," Sauron said softly.   
"It is, it is!"  
"No," Sauron insisted. "I am one of the divine, I know such things. It is him. You could have a dozen children if you so desired."  
"That does not matter! He cannot understand that! He will continue this until I throw myself out of a window." A wild look came into Miriel's eyes, and Sauron held her firmly until the moment passed.  
"I have a plan," Sauron whispered.  
"What is it?" Miriel asked, the madness still not having entirely left her.  
"You need to be with child, for then Pharazon will leave you and consort with concubines, yes?"  
Miriel nodded emphatically.  
"Yet Pharazon cannot have children," Sauron said. "This presents somewhat of a dilemma, yes? However, I have the solution."  
"What is it?" Miriel asked again, staring into Sauron's eyes. "Tell me! Now!"  
"How will Pharazon tell if the child is his?" Sauron asked.  
"What?"  
"How will Pharazon know the child you bear is his?"  
"It will look like him," Miriel said.  
"Are you sure? Many children do not look like their parents."  
"But…but…he would find out if I were unfaithful. His spies are everywhere."  
"And who is the spymaster?" Sauron asked, raising an eyebrow.  
"Why, you are," Miriel said. "You run everything here. The king's mind is barely his own."  
"Indeed," Sauron said. "And though I cannot sway Pharazon's basest desires without completely unhinging his mind, I can provide you with something to distract him."  
Miriel considered this. "You are a monster," she said.  
"No, I am a Maia."  
"No child has been born of a union between Men and a Maia."  
"No, but that does not mean it is impossible," Sauron said.   
"It would make Pharazon leave me alone," Miriel murmured. She stared suspiciously at Sauron. "What do you want in exchange?" she asked.  
Sauron sighed. "Everyone always assumes I want something," he muttered. "In this case, I do. But I want very little."  
"What is it?"  
"Stay out of my affairs. Do not speak to the king of anything I do. Do not aid the Faithful in any way. Do not plead on their behalf in front of the king."  
"I would spend my entire day locked in my room if I could," Miriel said. "And, as you said, I am a figurehead for the Faithful, nothing more."  
"Ah, you are a fine liar, my queen," Sauron said. "You spirit them away to the shores of Middle-Earth, do not think I do not know. This must stop, or else no child shall ever grow inside you. And moreover I shall place thoughts into Pharazon's mind that would chill your very marrow."  
"I do not fear you," Miriel said coldly.  
"Then you are a fool," Sauron said. "Come, what is your answer?"  
For a long moment, Miriel wrestled with her thoughts. "Give me the child," she said.   
You think you can con me, Sauron thought. You think you can get everything for nothing. You will continue your aid of the Faithful, but accept the child I will give you. I will let it slide…for now. If it becomes a distraction or nuisance to me, then I will give Pharazon some…creative ways to spend his time with you.  
"Hurry," Miriel hissed as Sauron began to undress. "My maids will return soon."  
"They will not return until I wish them to," Sauron said. "We are alone for as long as I like. No one will disturb us."  
Miriel seemed suspicious at first, but saw no reason for Sauron to lie. "Once?" she asked. "That is all?"  
"My lady, I am a Maia, not a Vala," Sauron said. "And you are a mortal. Neither of us can get it right all of the time. No, not once, I think. A number of times, perhaps."  
"Liar," Miriel hissed.   
"I never said anything about that," Sauron said. "Now enjoy yourself, Miriel. I am not the vile animal Pharazon is."


	18. Ancalime

"You stare at her as if she were a hound of Hell, waiting for you to fall and to drag you down into the dark regions," Vorea stated.  
"Are you quoting something?" Khamul asked.  
"No. I have merely noticed you eye that woman with such great suspicion and dislike that I am surprised she has not combusted due to the heat of your gaze alone."  
"I don't like her," Khamul said, watching the silly court lady with the silken fan sit on the marble bench and watch the gate.   
"Perhaps she is a Vala," Vorea said.  
"No, they wouldn't look that ridiculous," Khamul said.   
"She is quite dignified," Vorea said. "And quite fashionable as well, or so Ceure tells me. The blue-green gown is similar to a fashion the queen favors. And that fan is of very fine silk, hand-painted. Though apparently the magenta clashes with the rest of the ensemble."  
"I didn't take you for someone who knew the slightest thing about fashion," Khamul said.  
"I don't," Vorea said. "But Ceure finds it interesting,"  
"Great," Khamul muttered.  
"What is the intrigue of this woman?"  
"She sits there," Khamul said, gesturing at the lady.  
"Does she indeed?"  
"Don't be sarcastic! She sits there all day everyday, watching for her brother, who never comes. She is there when I stroll the gardens at dawn, and she is there when the moon rises! She never leaves! I wouldn't be surprised if she slept there!"  
"Perhaps you should talk to her," Vorea said.  
"Stupid idea," Khamul said. "I don't want her to know that I'm spying on her."  
"I think from the way you have been watching her that she has a very good idea already."  
Khamul said nothing, but walked across the garden towards the marble bench. "Still watching for your brother?" she asked.  
"Yes. Yes, I am," the lady said. "Will you wait with me?" she asked, smiling.   
"No," Khamul said. "Who are you anyway? I don't keep track of the nobles."  
"I am called Ancalime," the lady said. "Named after the first queen of Numenor."  
"Great name," Khamul said. "Who's your brother?"  
"Morion," Ancalime said. She frowned. "He was supposed to be here a long time ago. I am growing frustrated at him."  
"How unfortunate for him," Khamul said. "Shouldn't you be waiting for your husband though?" she asked. "Isn't that how they do it around here? Or is he dead?"  
"Husband?" Ancalime asked, puzzled. Then she glanced down at a ring on her finger. Its amethyst glittered. "Oh no!" she exclaimed, giggling. "I'm not married. A very nice man gave me this. It's just so pretty, I had to wear it."  
Khamul rolled her eyes. What a silly woman, she thought. "Why do you sit here all the time though?" she asked. "You could wait for your brother inside."  
"I know," Ancalime said. "But I want to be the first person to see him when he walks through the gates. Or rides. I think he has a horse."  
Rolling her eyes, Khamul walked back to the palace. "What a silly woman," she told Vorea.  
"Is there some reason why she is sitting there day in and day out?"   
"No," Khamul said, shaking her head. "She just wants to spot her brother when he rides in."  
"Indeed?" Vorea asked. "And who is her brother?"  
"Morion or something like that," Khamul said.  
"Indeed?"  
"Do you know him?" Khamul asked, spinning around.  
"I should say that I do," Vorea said. "Are you sure this woman said Morion was her brother?"  
"Yes, why? What is he?"  
"His father was Elendil's younger brother," Vorea hissed. "Elendil, son of Amandil! He perished in his thirties on a raid on Middle-Earth. His wife was just a month pregnant with their twins, Morion and Ancalime."  
"So Morion is a lord of the Andunie?" Khamul asked.  
"Yes!"  
Khamul thought about Ancalime, how she looked, and she compared them to the sleeping lord's face she had seen, as well as the same lord from Umbar. There were similarities there, she decided.  
"He will not leave his sister here," Khamul said. "I'm sure of it. And to make doubly sure, I will go arrest her this minute."   
Grinning, Khamul returned to the garden. "I think you need to come inside now, Ancalime," she said.  
"Oh? Have I missed my brother? Is he here already?" Ancalime asked.  
"No, you're under arrest," Khamul said.  
"Oh? Why?" Ancalime asked.  
"For being a treacherous lord of the Andunie!" Khamul snarled.  
"Oh no," Ancalime said, shaking her head. "It's not me that's a lord of the Andunie. It's my brother. And he's very good; not treacherous at all."  
"Be that as it may, you're under arrest," Khamul said.  
"Are you Khamul?" Ancalime asked.  
"Yes, why?"  
"He told me to show you this," Ancalime said, holding up her hand and showing off the ring. It was a golden band, set with a stone. It looked strikingly similar to Khamul's own.  
"Who told you that?" Khamul asked.  
"The Lord Sauron, of course," Ancalime said. "He told me that after he gave me the ring. He said I would make an excellent ringbearer."  
When Ancalime looked up from admiring the ring, Khamul was nowhere to be seen.  
"I'll show him!" Khamul snarled, storming through the palace. "Where in Arda is he?" she roared at a servant.  
"W-who, my lady?" the servant stuttered in terror.  
"Sauron!"  
"I do not know, my lady," the servant whimpered. "I have not seen him all day."  
"I'll find him myself then!" Khamul growled.   
She looked in the temple, but found nothing but Agan performing some obscene bloodletting rite. Sauron's chambers were likewise empty. Khamul finally resorted to opening every door she passed, not even bothering to snap out an excuse when she stumbled in on someone.   
Finally, she got lucky. She had flung doors open all down a hallway, but nothing. She was about to turn to the next corridor, when she realized there was one door left unopened.   
How did I miss that? Khamul thought. Wait…what am I doing here? I should be doing something else.  
"You bastard!" Khamul snarled, shutting the magic-induced thoughts out of her mind. "I knew it! What are you up to?"  
Flinging the door open, Khamul stormed in. "Sauron!" she yelled. "Where are you?"  
"Shut the door," Sauron said, sitting up and gathering a blanket around himself.   
"What are you doing?" Khamul asked.  
"I don't think you're that ignorant."  
"What?" Khamul asked. "Nevermind, I don't care. Why in all Arda did you give a ring to that imbecile?"  
"Who?" Sauron asked.  
"Ancalime!"  
"She's been dead for centuries."  
"No! The bitch who's sitting outside, waiting for her brother, who is Isildur's cousin!" Khamul screamed.  
"Shut the door," Sauron repeated.  
Khamul slammed the door shut.  
"Thank you. I gave a ring to Ancalime because I thought she would make a good ringbearer. Do you understand?"  
"No, I don't. Because frankly, she's an idiot, and she's more than a little insane. Are you doing this just to catch her brother?"  
"No," Sauron said. "Her brother is in Andunie, hiding somewhere."  
"She is convinced he's coming to get her."  
"Then he'll die," Sauron said. "And I will have an unhappy ringbearer on my hands. Or maybe it will be your job to make sure she doesn't do anything stupid. I do believe I rather like that idea."  
Khamul was trembling with rage. "I will not look after a woman so incompetent and stupid," she snarled. "And you still want Isildur for the chief, don't you?" she hissed.  
"Khamul, much more of this and I am going to have to kill someone I don't want dead," Sauron said.  
"What?" Khamul exclaimed. "You dare threaten me? Fine! Bring it on! I can cut a thousand of you to pieces!"  
With a snarl of irritation, Sauron walked over to Khamul. "I am having an affair with the queen," he hissed. "I do not want to kill her. Stop talking now."  
"I will say whatever I feel like!" Khamul yelled. "I'll shout out all your plans this second!"  
"Do that and I will make you regret it," Sauron said.  
"How? I don't think you can! I don't think you can do anything except manipulate people! And you can't manipulate me!"  
"I am a Maia," Sauron snarled.  
"So you keep telling me! Show me some magic then! Ha! Great sorcerer? I think not!"  
The light in the room abruptly dimmed. Thunder rumbled. Lightning burst around Sauron. The Maia's eyes blazed with fire.   
"You are my ringbearer, my lieutenant, and my servant," Sauron said, his voice crackling with power. "You will not question me, and you will not disobey me."  
"I will not look after incompetents," Khamul said, standing her ground even though the display of raw power was causing her knees to go weak. No, she thought. No fear. This is just him showing off. I'm better than him.   
"You will do as you are told."  
"I will not!" Khamul growled. "I will follow the orders I deem to be in the best interest of the final goal! And Ancalime is a fool!"  
"Then use her to trap your Andunie lord!" Sauron roared. "Find a use for her! I have chosen her, and you will accommodate her!"  
Unable to think up a suitable rebuttal, Khamul glared fiercely at Sauron, then turned the glare of utter malice on Miriel, who was sitting up in the bed, looking terrified, before storming out of the room.  
"I see you had an altercation with our lord," Vorea said as Khamul stomped towards the garden.  
"I did," Khamul said.  
"It did not go well."  
"He's having an affair with the queen, he's given a ring to that mindless blob, and he can actually do magic."  
"I see," Vorea said, nodding. "The ring I suspected ever since I saw the woman. She has an aura that is intriguing. I would like to meet her brother."  
Khamul spat, snarling curses under her breath.  
"Sauron is a mighty sorcerer of legend. I had no doubts about his magical ability. However, the affair with the queen has taken me quite by surprise. Are you sure of it?"  
"They were both naked and in bed together," Khamul said. "Yes, I'm sure."  
Vorea nodded slowly. "I think I understand," she said. "Sauron is giving the queen some escape from Pharazon in exchange for her not aiding the Faithful. Or perhaps turning them in, though I doubt that."  
"I don't care what he's doing," Khamul said. "I just can't stand this!"  
"The gates are opening," Vorea whispered.  
"What?"  
The gates of the palace swung wide and a lone horseman rode in. The horse nearly collapsed as it passed under the gate, but the rider leapt off and dashed towards Ancalime.  
"Morion!" she exclaimed in delight.


	19. Bargaining With the Devil

Khamul was just about to call for the guards, but Vorea beat her to it.   
"Arrest this man!" the third ringbearer called, and the guards in black and silver hurried to obey.   
Ignoring a cry from Ancalime, Morion started to draw his sword, but Khamul reached him first, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back.  
"Remember me?" she hissed.  
"Murderer," Morion snarled, trying to escape her grip.  
"I don't think so," Khamul said, kicking him to the ground. "Take him to the dungeons," she ordered the guards.  
"Yes, my lady," the captain said. After binding Morion's hands behind his back, they dragged him off towards the palace.  
"Oh dear," Ancalime whispered, fluttering the fan around her face. "I wonder what he did."  
"He's a traitor," Khamul said. "And he's going to die."  
"Oh, that'd be a shame," Ancalime said. "He's my twin brother. I do love him so."  
"The only reason you're not sharing his fate is because of that ring," Khamul snarled, glaring at the lady.  
"If he had a ring, would you still kill him?" Ancalime asked.  
"We couldn't," Khamul said. "But there's only one ring left, and it's going to some bastard halfway across the island."  
"I could give him my ring."  
"No, you couldn't."  
"Yes, I could," Ancalime said. She tried to remove the ring, but it wouldn't come off. "Oh, it's stuck," she said.   
"What a shame," Khamul said. She walked back towards the palace, brimming with pride. What will Sauron think of this? she thought triumphantly.  
It was not Sauron, however, who she ran into first. It was Agan. The photophobic priest was hiding in the shadows near the temple and scurried out as Khamul walked back.  
"I had the lord placed in a different dungeon," he said.  
"Eh? Why?" Khamul asked. She had nothing but contempt for Agan. He reeked of blood and guts, he was always lurking in shadows, and he was a murdering coward.   
"The common dungeons are very full at the moment," Agan said.   
"So this guy's special in some way?" Khamul asked. "We can't just shove him in with the rest of the trash?"  
"An important day in our religion is coming up," Agan said. "This young lord is the perfect sacrifice."  
Khamul had a feeling that Agan was hiding something, but she didn't really care what it was. Likely it was nothing more than a partiuclarly gruesome rite the priest was going to perform.  
"Bring it up with Sauron, not me," Khamul said. "So long as he's behind bars, I'm happy."  
"That is the problem," Agan said. "The great lord is very busy; I do not wish to disturb him with this. Therefore, I would ask a small favor of you."  
"What is it?"  
"Do not tell the great Lord Sauron that the lord of the Andunie has been captured," Agan said.  
Khamul frowned. Agan was nothing if not a fawning toady, so why should he suddenly want to keep secrets from one he regarded as his god? Still…if this was going to make trouble for Sauron, Khamul would be only too glad to watch with glee.  
"Sure thing," Khamul said. "I never saw nor heard a thing."  
Agan smiled and bowed. "Thank you, great lady," he said. "I appreciate this. If you are ever in need of my help, simply ask."  
Khamul nodded and walked off. Like I'll ever need his help, she thought. I wonder what he's up to though. I doubt he's double-crossing us, so why does he want to keep news of Morion's imprisonment from Sauron?  
As she walked the corridors, Khamul sighed in exasperation and hurried down a flight of stairs towards the direction of Ancalime's voice.  
"I told you already, I can't let you out," the lady was saying.  
"Ancalime! They have no right to do this!"  
"You must have done something though! The king is just!"  
"No, he's a fool! Ancalime, please! I beg of you! Let me out!"  
"Visiting time is over," Khamul said, forcibly removing Ancalime's hands from the cell bars and pushing her towards the door.  
"I want to see him one last time," Ancalime said.  
"You can watch the execution like everyone else," Khamul said. "Now leave! Go on! Get out!"  
Once the lady of the court had left, Khamul checked the lock on Morion's cell door. The lord glared out at her from behind the small barred window.   
"You foul wraith," he snarled. "First you destroy Umbar, now you intend to rot the heart of Numenor."  
"Yes, I do," Khamul said. "Tell me though, for I'm quite curious. Wraith seems to be the insult of choice when speaking to me and mine. Any particular reason?"  
"You cannot be killed," Morion said. "So obviously you are already dead."  
Khamul smiled. "Wrong, I'm afraid," she said. "I'm as alive as you are. Though you won't be staying that way for long."  
"What has happened to my sister?" Morion asked softly.  
"What?"  
"She wears a ring that gives off a feeling of great evil. Where did she come by it?"  
"Sauron gave it to her," Khamul said. "She's his ninth ringbearer. I'm the second."  
"Who is the first then?"  
"Isildur, I think. At least, that's what Sauron wants."  
Morion sighed and rested his head against the bars. "My sister is naïve," he said. "She is easily manipulated. You say you are the second ringbearer and the highest at this time. Therefore I beg of you to save my sister. Do not let her become a minion of Sauron's."  
"I have no control over that," Khamul said. "If Sauron chose her and she accepted the ring, then it is all decided."  
"There must be something you can do," Morion begged. "Look after her, at least. Please! I beg you!"  
"No, I don't see why I should," Khamul said. She turned away. "I'll leave you to your fate," she said. "Contemplate your last hours."  
"No, wait!" Morion pleaded.  
"What do you want now?" Khamul snarled.  
"I have nothing with which to bargain with," Morion said.   
"No, you don't. Though," Khamul added, "perhaps you could tell me the names of the Faithful."  
"No, I would never do that," Morion said.  
"Then what do you want?"   
"I…well…I…" Morion seemed to have difficulty articulating whatever it was he wanted to say. He was also blushing.  
"What are you trying to say?" Khamul growled, walking right up to the door of the cell.  
"If you were to look out for my sister, I would do anything for you," Morion said. "Anything."  
"I am not the queen," Khamul snarled, punching Morion through the bars of the window. She heard a crunch and a thud as the lord fell back.  
Bastard, she thought, storming out of the cell. To think I'd fall for something like that.


	20. Agan's Treachery

It had been several days since Morion was captured and Khamul had not said a single word to Sauron about it. The Maia's attention was solely focused on keeping the queen in line while prodding Pharazon towards war with Valinor. It was folly with a capital 'F', but it also meant destruction of the most grand and permanent kind for Numenor.  
"I don't like being ordered around like a servant!" Ceure snarled as she and Vorea strode into the garden where Khamul was finding she spent most of her time.  
"What's going on?" Khamul asked, glancing up.  
"Agan is nowhere to be found," Vorea said. "And an obnoxious servant of his is ordering us to clean up the temple. I find such a task distasteful in the extreme."  
"Go beat the bastard up," Khamul advised.  
"He will go running to Sauron," Vorea said. "I do not want to be blamed for the inevitable."  
"Then kill him."  
"I find such an option unsuitable."  
"Then I'll do it," Khamul snapped. "Go look for some fawning toady to replace him."  
"One with a bit more respect," Ceure said.  
After dispatching the servant, Khamul watched the going ons of the war room for a while, carefully keeping to the shadows where she could not be seen.   
"He's really going to build a fleet," Khamul muttered, shaking her head. "He's really going to do it. I can't believe it. Any fool with an ounce of a sense in his head would know Valinor is invulnerable."  
She passed the dungeon and glanced inside, expecting to see Morion. To her surprise, he was not there.  
"Ah well," she said with a shrug. "He's dead and gone now. All I wish is that it was me who drove the knife through his heart."  
*  
Ancalime was damned to a life of eternal darkness. Elendil and his sons would be killed for their rebellion. Andunie would fall, and Numenor shortly after it. For there was no doubt in Morion's mind that it was Sauron's grand plan to bring about the end of the island kingdom.  
He thought about sleeping, trying to take his mind off his impending doom. No, he thought. I would just dream again. I do not want to dream about that again.  
For as long as he could remember, whenever he went to sleep when sad, angered, or scared, he would dream of flames and darkness surrounding him. He would see flashes of other things, but then it would all end with a glimpse of a black door.   
I'll just sit here, he thought. I'll just wait for it. Maybe I can fight the guards. Maybe I can escape. I'll try that. It might work.  
The door to his cell opened, and Morion leapt to his feet.  
"I would not move if I were you," a dark priest said. He held a long dagger in one hand, pointed at Morion's chest.  
"What do you want?"  
"Go," the priest said. He gestured for Morion to leave first so he could follow him, dagger at Morion's back.  
I don't have a choice, Morion thought, walking out of the cell and down deserted corridors.  
"The great lords are deep in conference," the priest said. "They are debating the merits of invading Valinor."  
"That would be madness," Morion said.  
"It is not for you to say," the priest snarled. "Your life is at an end, but your usefulness is not."  
"I will not be a wraith!" Morion growled, about to whirl on the priest, but the dagger pricked his back and he kept moving.  
"Your soul will go to Mandos," the priest said. "You have nothing to fear."  
The priest led him into a small, windowless room. The walls were painted black, and a single tattered piece of cloth rested on an ebony table.   
"Kneel," the priest hissed, pushing Morion to his knees in front of the table. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, gesturing to the cloth.  
"No," Morion said. "It looks like part of a flag."  
"It is a flag," the priest said reverently. "The only surviving flag of Lord Melkor from the First Age."  
So he's a priest of Morgoth, Morion thought. I'm to be a sacrifice to that dark Vala. Fine. My soul will rest in Mandos soon enough. The only thing I'm puzzled about is why he's doing it here, in his private shrine. Why not kill me in front of an audience? I am Elendil's nephew, after all.  
"You have no appreciation for what your death will accomplish," the priest sneered. "I have searched so long for you, Andunie lord. So long indeed."  
This isn't a normal sacrifice, Morion thought. It's something special. There's something wrong here. Something very wrong indeed.  
Before Morion could move, the priest placed his hand on Morion's head and whispered a spell. The lord of the Andunie found he could not move.   
"I will allow nothing to endanger this ritual," the priest hissed, wrapping a black cloth around Morion's eyes.   
The priest then proceeded to undress Morion and move his arms so they hung straight out from his sides. With all his might, Morion struggled to break the spell that held him, but it was futile. The priest's power was mighty indeed.  
*  
"Great lord!" Agan cried, throwing back his cowl and raising his hands towards the sky. "Accept this offering!"  
The Andunie lord was still resisting his spell, but it would hold long enough for the ritual to be completed.  
The light in the room, dim already, was growing darker and darker. Soon Agan could see nothing. Then a – strange though it seemed – dark light crackled around the Andunie lord. Lightning raced around him, caressing his skin.  
"Yes," Agan hissed. It was working. All his ceaseless searching, his fawning over Sauron, everything was coming to completion.  
The Andunie lord cried out loudly before collapsing to the floor.  
"My king," Agan whispered, getting on his knees.  
*  
Lightning seared his skin. Morion wanted nothing more than to scream, but the spell held him still. Finally there was a terrible burst of pain and he could feel himself falling.   
I am dead then, Morion thought. All around me is darkness. No Mandos here. Have I been cast into the Everlasting Darkness for my sins?   
To his surprise, Morion stood up. Perhaps I am not dead then, he considered. If I can move, then does it not stand to reason that I am alive? But, on the other hand, how do spirits move about Mandos if they cannot move? I could still be dead. In fact, I likely am.  
He was still naked, which Morion found rather disconcerting, but there didn't seem to be anyone else there.   
"Where am I?" he asked aloud.   
He looked around, glancing behind him, and then he saw the door.   
It was the door from his dream. There could be no other like it. And instinctively, Morion knew he was on the wrong side of it.  
"Where am I?" he whispered.  
A tremendous wall of pressure came out of nowhere, hurling him to his knees.   
"Bow before me," a voice – was it really a voice? It was like a whisper on the wind – insisted.   
"Who are you?" Morion gasped, though he didn't want to know.  
"I am your master."  
Summoning every ounce of his will, Morion looked up despite the immense pressure insisting that he bow his head.  
A dark figure strode towards him. The only feature Morion could make out was that it was tall. Not as tall as Elendil, but tall. It had almost the build of an elf, he thought, but it seemed like it could be a human as well. It was a confusing creature.   
As the figure grew closer, Morion saw that its features continually changed. First its skin was as green as a goblin's, and then it was pale as the northern men's. It had wings, and then it did not. The teeth were sharp, small and pointed, then it was toothless. Its eyes stayed the same though. As black as the deepest abyss, and lacking pupils, iris, or sclera.  
"Who are you?" Morion asked again weakly. He was beginning to have an inkling of an idea as to the answer.  
The figure knelt down next to him. Its features seemed to have solidified. The build could still have been elven or human, and the face was strong but finely shaped. Its teeth were as sharp as a goblin's, and the canines were quite long. In one long-nailed hand, it clasped his face, drawing pinpricks of blood.   
"I think you know the answer to that question," the man – it was most definitely a man – hissed, grinning and baring his fangs.  
"I would guess you are Morgoth then," Morion said.   
Quick as lightning, the Dark Vala slapped him, sending Morion tumbling to the ground.  
"I am Melkor," he snarled, hauling Morion to his feet by his hair. "I have been imprisoned in here for countless years. And through you I will return."  
Morion's blood ran cold. "No," he whispered. "No, this cannot be true. You cannot escape. The Valar…"  
"Are fools," Melkor snarled. "You have had dreams of the Door of Night, yes? I am trapped behind it, but you…there is something special about you. You are the key to that Door. The Valar locked the Door and threw away the key, but it seems to have landed in you."  
"You will never escape," Morion snarled. "I will not let you out!"  
"I never asked you to," Melkor said. "I do not need you to do anything. Enjoy your last few moments of life!"  
The Dark Vala sprang at him, knocking him to the ground. The fangs crunched down on his neck, not severing any veins or arteries, but causing intense pain.  
Morion screamed. He screamed until he was choking on blood. Melkor's claws were tearing through his body.   
"Mine!" Melkor shouted in triumph, taking Morion with a thrust.  
Morion's eyes rolled up in his head. Blood streamed from his mouth. I am dying, he thought as his body jerked and twitched. I am dying and I will soon be dead. And then this will all be over.


	21. He Who Arises in Might

"My king," Agan whispered, watching the body of the Andunie lord. It twitched once, and then the eyes opened. But they weren't the gray eyes of Morion; they were black, pupiless.   
"Where am I?" Melkor asked as he sat up in Morion's body. He examined himself for a moment, moving his limbs, touching his face.   
"Numenor, my king," Agan said, eyes firmly planted on the floor. He did not dare invoke his lord's wrath by looking him in the eyes.  
"Numenor?"  
"It is an island off the coast of…"  
"I know where it is!" Melkor snarled. "I did not think you would be foolish enough to summon me here!"  
"The kingdom has fallen into Sauron's hands," Agan said. "It is corrupt, ready to fall."  
"Indeed?" Melkor mused, standing up. Snatching up Morion's clothes, he began dressing himself. "Who rules now?"  
"Ar-Pharazon," Agan sneered. "He is weak, and a fool. Sauron is urging the king towards war with Valinor."  
Melkor snorted. "Doom is upon Numenor then," he said. "What else is my old student up to?"  
"He is hounding, capturing and sacrificing the Faithful," Agan said. "All dedicated to you."  
"I'm sure," Melkor sneered. "Sauron cared for nothing but himself in the old days. I doubt that has changed."  
"He has gathered eight to serve him. He has given them powerful rings. Sauron himself wears a master ring; the One."  
"I see," Melkor said, his eyes narrowing. "What else? What of Tar-Miriel?"  
"He is bedding her," Agan sneered. "In exchange for her cooperation in his plans. However, she still aids the Faithful. She gives them ships to escape Numenor and travel to Middle-Earth."  
"Indeed?" Melkor asked. "That is unfortunate. Treacherous whores must be punished. Just as servants whose usefulness has reached an end must be disposed of."  
He reached out and touched Agan in the center of his forehead. The dark priest's eyes rolled up and he collapsed, dead.  
"I doubt anyone will come in here," Melkor muttered, shutting the door as he left. "Now, Sauron, my deceitful student, I will have my revenge on you."  
As he walked through the halls of the palace, Melkor plundered Morion's memories. The Andunie lord had only been to the palace once before, but Melkor doubted the layout had changed much in the short time. In fact, he doubted it had changed much since it was built.  
Numenor must fall, that was true. And Sauron's plan was cunning and very fine, that was also true. But in the dark Void, Melkor had sensed no true sacrifice to him. Oh, it was lip-service Sauron paid him, but that was all it was. Nothing more. His pupil would pay for this.   
"The queen's chambers," Melkor murmured, pushing the door to Miriel's room open.   
The queen sat in front of her mirror, braiding her long hair.  
"What did he promise you?" Melkor asked.   
Miriel whirled around, looking at him with alarm. "Who are you?" she asked. She frowned. "Morion?"  
"No," Melkor said, walking towards the queen. "He is dead."  
"But you are him."  
"In body only."  
"Who are you?" Miriel asked, trembling and backing away. "What do you want?"  
"What did my errant pupil promise you?" Melkor asked. The queen had backed herself into a corner, quite literally. There was nowhere she could run. As if it was even possible to run from the Dark Vala.  
"Who are you?"  
"You know who I am. Now answer my question," Melkor hissed, dark lightning crackling in his eyes.  
"He promised me a child," Miriel gasped. "To keep Pharazon away."  
"Did he indeed?" Melkor asked, amused. What a clever creature Sauron had become. "And in exchange?"  
"I was to cease aiding the Faithful."  
"And have you?"  
Miriel's eyes widened and her mouth opened, but she did not speak.  
"I will take that as a no," Melkor said. "My pupil is a fool to allow this to continue. Undoubtedly he considers this entertaining. Some game to amuse himself with; Catch the Faithful Miriel is Sneaking Out of Numenor. However, while my pupil finds treachery amusing, I do not."  
"Leave me," Miriel hissed.   
"You say you wanted a child," Melkor said, entwining a strand of Miriel's hair around his finger. "I can give you that."  
"Leave me," Miriel repeated.   
"I think not," Melkor said. "Treachery must be punished. But I can be merciful as well. The blood of a Vala would greatly enrich your line's lineage. So I shall give you your child. If you can survive it!"


	22. Heroes of the Hour

"Why aren't we ever invited to war meetings?" Khamul asked as she and Vorea patrolled the hallways.  
"We are not a king, nor a counselor, nor a lord, nor a general, nor an admiral," Vorea said.  
"That's a lot of things we aren't," Khamul said. "And Sauron isn't any of those anyway."  
"He is the new counselor to the king. It was a post held by Amandil, but it was vacated some time ago."  
"Whatever happened to that old man?" Khamul asked. "I heard Elendil being called the Lord of the Andunie. He finally die?"  
"He sailed into the West," Vorea said. "It is rumored that he went seeking the aid of the Valar."  
Khamul snorted. "Good luck there."  
"Quite." Vorea frowned. "That man looks familiar," she said.  
"Does he?" Khamul asked, studying a man who was leaving the queen's chambers. "By the Valar!" she hissed. "It's Morion!"  
"But how?" Vorea gasped. "He was locked up!"  
"Look! There's Ceure," Khamul said, nodding towards the fifth ringbearer who was walking down the hall towards them. "Listen, we've got him trapped. You throw your spear at him, I'll chop his head off, and Ceure'll beat him to death with whatever's on hand."  
"I think but one of those would kill him," Vorea said.  
"Better to be safe than sorry," Khamul said. "Ready?"  
"I am always ready."  
"Then let's GO!"  
Taking a short run through the hallway, Vorea let fly her metal spear. It went speeding faster than Khamul's eyes could follow. There was a sickening noise as it impaled Morion, smashing through ribs and organs alike.  
"Got him!" Khamul hissed in triumph. "But just to make sure…Ceure! Kill him!"  
"I think he's dead already!" Ceure shouted back. "Of all the times not to have my sword," she muttered, but picked up a metal vase and charged forward.  
"And finally, the coup de grace," Khamul muttered, drawing her sword and running at the falling man.  
Morion was attempting to pull the spear out of his chest, and doing a reasonably good job of it for a man with seconds to live.  
"Take that!" Ceure exclaimed as she smashed him in the head with the vase.  
"You can't kill me," Morion gasped, laughing macbarely as blood trickled out of his mouth.  
"I don't see a ring on your finger!" Khamul snarled, driving her sword through his heart. "How in all Arda did you escape?" she demanded. "It was Ancalime, wasn't it?"  
"You should look for treachery far closer," Morion gasped. He straightened and pulled out Vorea's spear. "This is yours, is it not?" he asked, hurling it back to her.  
"Ah, he has a fine throw, but I think his aim needs a little work!" Vorea exclaimed as she leapt to the side, avoiding the spear, which sunk a foot into the wall.  
"How are you not dead?" Khamul snarled. "Forget it," she growled. "Decapitation works when all else fails."  
"Ah, I suppose it does," Morion said. With a flick of his wrist, he threw Ceure into a wall. "Regrettably, I have no weapon. Although, I believe I can rip your head off with my bare hands, so we are evenly matched."  
This isn't Morion, Khamul thought. I've hardly spoken to the man, but I can tell this just isn't like him. And, of course, then there's the whole not-dying when he's been impaled. Yes, something is rotten here. Very rotten indeed.  
Khamul swung her sword at Morion's neck, but to her immense surprise, he caught it in one hand. The razor-sharp edge of the blade did not so much as nick his skin.   
"You are outmatched, Haradrim," Morion said.  
"If one more person calls me that, I will rip their throat out with my teeth," Khamul snarled. "Although, I think I'll do that to you anyway."  
"Your teeth will have as much effect as your sword."  
"How about this?" Khamul snarled, abandoning her sword and punching Morion in the face. "Worked last time!"  
The force of the blow sent Morion stumbling back, but he shook it off and looked up. "No broken bones," he said. "Nothing. And if you look here," He tore open his shirt, "you will see there is no hole where the spear tore through me." He was right.   
"How did you do that?" Khamul demanded.  
"What is going on?" Sauron roared, flinging a door open and storming into the hallway. "What is this?"  
"He's a devil!" Ceure screamed, pointing at Morion. "He's still alive!"  
Sauron rolled his eyes. "You incompetent idiots," he snarled. "You can't even make sure a man is dead."  
"Oh, I wouldn't blame them, my errant pupil," Morion said, turning his back on Khamul and the others.  
"Who are you?" Sauron asked suspiciously.  
"You don't recognize me? You hurt me, Sauron."  
"Melkor," Sauron whispered in horror, his eyes widening in shock.  
"Yes," Morion said, stepping towards Sauron. "I have returned. Bow down, student, before the master."  
"My lord," Sauron said. "There is one thing you have never learned."  
Morion frowned. "What?"  
"Do not turn your back on those still alive."  
Khamul thrust her sword behind Morion's shoulder blades while Vorea severed his spinal cord, and Ceure slit his throat with a long knife of Khamul's.  
"Is he dead now?" Khamul asked.  
"No," Sauron said, walking over to where Morion had fallen to the ground in an ever-expanding pool of blood.   
"What do we do?"  
"Nothing," Sauron said.  
Morion's black, pupiless eyes rolled in his head, before the black spread away like film, leaving the gray, normal eyes behind.  
"Is he dead now?" Khamul asked.  
"No," Sauron said. "He is healed." The blood around the body flowed back into it and Morion groaned a little.  
"Is he still Melkor?" Khamul asked, not quite believing what had occurred. The first Dark Lord, returned from the Void, and she had fought with him.  
Sauron shook his head. "The Dark Vala's spirit has departed from him, momentarily. It will return eventually."  
"What do we do with him? Can we kill him now?"  
"No," Sauron said. "There is nothing we can do, save try to control him."  
"How do we do that?"  
Sauron grudgingly took out a ring of gold, set with a bloodstone. "With this," he said with a sigh. "I almost wonder if this is what He wanted."  
"You're giving him the ring?" Khamul asked, incredulous.  
"I have no choice," Sauron said. "This is the only way that it might be possible to control him. If Morion is bound to my service then Melkor will find it far more difficult to get inside his mind."  
Khamul frowned. "I don't like this," she said.   
"I did not ask you. Care for him," Sauron said as he placed the ring upon Morion's finger. "He is your lord now."  
"Where are you going?" Khamul asked as she stared down at Morion with distaste.  
"I am going to see to Miriel. I fear she has born the brunt of Melkor's wrath."  
"Can you believe this?" Khamul snarled, glaring at Morion. "He's the chief ringbearer!"  
"He may prove a wise leader," Vorea said.  
"He's got a psychopathic Vala inside his head," Khamul said. "He's unstable. He will be a nightmare of a chief. We should kill him now."  
"I do not know if that is possible."  
"We should test it out." Khamul started to draw her sword.   
"What happened?" Morion asked, opening his eyes and looking around. "Are you going to kill me?"  
"Yes," Khamul said.  
"He cannot be killed," Vorea said. "It is impossible."  
Khamul snarled in fury and sheathed her sword. "You're the chief ringbearer now," she snapped. "Stand up and act like it."  
"What do you mean?" Morion asked. "How did I get here? What happened?"  
"You have Morgoth in your head," Khamul said. "He's still there, waiting for a chance to take over your mind. Fortunately, the ring's going to help control that. So get up, say you're all better, and then go drown yourself in the fish pond."  
"Khamul!" Vorea snarled.  
"Listen to me," Khamul hissed, dragging Morion to his feet by the collar of his torn shirt. "You are going to be a leader I can respect, do you understand? You're going to be a leader I can follow into a massacre and still believe we're winning! You got that?"  
"Why don't you just lead?" Morion asked.  
"Because Sauron will not allow me to!" Khamul roared, throwing Morion from her before storming away.  
"So I'm the chief?" Morion muttered. He glanced up at Vorea and Ceure. "What are you?"  
"Dissatisfied," Vorea said.


	23. The Decision

Around the palace garden Khamul stormed like a rampaging ogre. The guards shrank back from her, not daring to meet her eyes or attract her attention.  
"How dare he?" Khamul snarled, clenching and unclenching her fists, her face a mask of fury. "He does not deserve to lead us. He is a fool who merely got lucky." Although the luck took the form of a creature of unspeakable evil residing in his body, Khamul reminded himself.  
"Khamul!" Vorea cried, running to catch up with the raging second ringbearer.   
"What is it?" Khamul growled.  
"If you wish to leave, then so shall I," Vorea said. "I have no more liking for that man than you."  
Leave. The word hung in the air, tantalizing them both.   
Ceure ran up, gasping a little. "I'm too old for this," she grumbled. "But I agree with Vorea. If you leave, we both will."  
Khamul considered this. "Leave," she said. She looked around at the palace that was rotting from within. The whole land was. Sauron's evil had spread across the land like a vile cancer. Already it was beyond cure. Soon Numenor would tumble to the ground, destroyed forever.  
"We are not needed anymore," Khamul said. "You can just see Romenna Harbor from here," she said. "The ships of the great fleet that will storm Valinor are being assembled. They will be ready to set sail in several months. Nothing could throw the king off his course now."  
"Do you think it is time to leave?" Vorea asked.  
Do I? Khamul asked herself. Do I think it is time to go? I don't know. I really don't. I can't stand this choice of a leader, but I want to see things completed. I want to watch Isildur be sacrificed in the temple, I want to watch as Numenor crumbles.   
"We will stay," Khamul said at last.


	24. The Gift

Indeed, it took not years for the fleet to be built, but months. And when Ar-Pharazon and the entire Numenorean army left for the Undying Lands, the king was in the finest mood he had ever been in. Not only was he weeks away from immortality, but his wife had just given birth to a son. His heir.  
"Whose do you think it is?" Ceure asked as she and Khamul strolled the Romenna dock.   
"Sauron's," Khamul said. "Pharazon can't."  
"No," Ceure said, shaking her head. "I meant, Sauron's, or Morion's?"  
"You mean Melkor's?" Khamul asked. She shrugged. "I don't know. It was nine months before the child's birth, but that's close to when her and Sauron's affair started."  
"The queen is changed," Ceure said.   
Khamul nodded. After the incident with Morion/Melkor, Miriel had become little more than a statue of marble. She rarely ate or drank, and never left her room unless she had to. Also, and most eerie to Khamul, the second ringbearer had never seen her blink.  
"Ah, it is good to see at least one ship in the docks," Ceure said, nodding at a small fishing boat they passed. "At least someone is bringing in fish."  
"Yes, the economy is important when the island's about to be wiped off the map," Khamul agreed. "Hang on," she muttered, stopping and walking back towards the boat. "I know that boat!"  
"What?"  
"It's not Numenorean design, see?" Khamul asked, gesturing at the prow. "They always shape theirs like swans or sweeping waves, or something graceful at least. That's a completely Middle-Earth design.   
"I still do not understand the significance," Ceure said.  
"Unless I am a complete fool, this is the boat Vorea and I took to Numenor," Khamul said, looking closely at the boat.  
"There's a note," Ceure said, gesturing to a small piece of paper pinned to the mast.  
Snatching it from where it was pinned, Khamul unfolded the note and read it quickly. "By all the Valar," she muttered.  
"Is it yours?"  
"It certainly is," Khamul said, nodding.  
"Who wrote the note?"  
"You'll never guess," Khamul said.  
"Read it to me," Ceure insisted.  
"Read it for yourself," Khamul said, handing Ceure the note.  
*  
Lady Khamul –   
I do believe that this small fishing vessel is yours. A company of my archers found it buried under years worth of leaves in Hyarrostar. Judging by the Middle-Earth design, the timing, and the placement, I suspect that this is how you and your companion came to Numenor undetected two years ago. I know you for the fiends and servants of Sauron that you are, but I have no grievance with you. On the contrary, you have saved my life, and that is a debt that can only be repaid by the saving of yours by me. Therefore, I warn you that doom approaches on swift wings. Ar-Pharazon's folly will not go unpunished by the Valar. They will strike down Numenor swiftly. Immortal you may be, I do not know. But I do know that all who remain on Numenor the thirteenth day after the king and his fleet have left will be utterly destroyed. Do not question how I know this, only that I know. Leave Numenor while you still can.  
\- Elendil  
*  
"Elendil," Ceure whispered.  
Khamul nodded. "Imagine that," she said.   
"When did the king leave?"  
"Twelve days ago."  
"Twelve?" Ceure gasped. "Do you believe him?"  
Khamul considered this. The only possible reason Elendil would have to lie was if he and his followers were planning a coup on that day. It would do well to have Sauron's protectors out of the city by then. But Elendil could not hope to win against a Maia, no matter how powerful his army was. He would be crushed.  
"Yes," she said. "I believe him."  
"What will we do?"  
"Return to the palace, tell Sauron, and then get out of here," Khamul said, turning around and walking with quick strides back to the palace. Show no panic, she told herself. Don't let on that you know anything. Just keep walking. Show no panic. Show no fear.  
"Sauron!" she yelled, throwing open the doors to the temple.  
"I'm glad I'm the only one here," Sauron said. "Or else you might have caused a riot. What's going on?"  
"Read this," Khamul said, handing him the note Elendil had sent her.  
"Ah, he is a most perceptive fellow," Sauron said.   
"He's right?"  
"Yes."  
"Numenor will be destroyed tomorrow?"  
"Yes."  
"Were you going to tell us?" Khamul asked.  
"I didn't see a reason to," Sauron said. "The towers will come crumbling down, the people will die, the land will be a barren wasteland for eternity. But we will all be fine."  
"I do not like this," Khamul said. "The Valar know you are here, yes?"  
"Indeed, that is true."  
"Then why would they send a calamity that you could survive?" Khamul asked. "Answer me that. Why would they let you, the creator of this doom, walk away untouched?"  
Sauron did not have an answer for that. He opened his mouth, but then closed it again. "You are right," he said at last.  
Khamul smiled. "And what will you do?" she asked.  
"I must stay here," Sauron said. "If I leave, Numenoreans will escape by the hundred. They will flee in a mass panic. I cannot have that."  
"But the Valar…"  
"Speak to me tomorrow at dawn," Sauron said. "I will tell you everything."  
"Shouldn't we leave before then?"  
"No," Sauron said. "I know that Elendil and his sons are in Armenelos right now. They will have to commandeer a ship in order to escape. Stop them."  
Khamul nodded. "Kill them," she said, nodding.   
"Exactly."  
Later that day, Khamul gathered all the ringbearers together. She paced back and forth nervously, while trying desperately to seem calm and relaxed.  
"Numenor will be destroyed tomorrow," she said.  
"What?" Vorea gasped. Ancalime's eyes widened dramatically.  
"I don't know when, but it will be sometime tomorrow," Khamul said. "We are all going to go to the docks in a moment to watch for Elendil and his sons."  
"Why are they here?" Ceure asked.  
"I don't know," Khamul said. "But Romenna Harbor is their only way out. There is only one boat there that I saw; the fishing boat we will all be taking out. It's very small, but I think we can make it. And when whatever happens that's going to happen, I want you all to stay calm, and pull on those oars like your lives depend on it!"  
"Will they?" Morion asked.  
Khamul shrugged. "The Valar intend for this disaster to destroy Sauron, so in all likelihood that means its powerful enough to destroy us as well."  
Grim faces all around. No one liked having to prolong escape from almost certain doom.   
"Elendil and his sons must be killed," Khamul said, looking from face to face. "Understand?"  
"Indeed," Vorea said, nodding.   
"One last thing," Khamul said. "Tomorrow I need to return to the palace at dawn. Morion's in charge if nothing's happening. If something happens, then listen to Vorea."  
The five ringbearers took their positions all along the dock, walking up and down, watching for anyone, particularly if they were eight feet tall.   
Darkness fell, and Khamul redoubled her vigilance. It's perfect time for them to escape, she thought. Any moment now they're going to come sneaking around, and then I'll gut them like fish!  
"I don't see anything," Ancalime whispered as she passed Khamul.  
"That's because there's no one out there," Khamul hissed.  
"It seems that this would be the time for them to escape though."  
"Maybe they have a boat anchored elsewhere," Khamul muttered.  
"No," Vorea said. "I checked with Sauron's spies. There is no other ship for miles and miles around. Spies are stationed all along the useable coastline. Elendil would know that."  
"And he also knows that we'd be here," Khamul snarled. "And he knows he can't defeat us."  
"Perhaps he will be taking his chances," Vorea said.  
"I'd take my chances with Sauron's spies myself."  
Vorea shrugged, though no one could see it in the darkness.


	25. Akallabeth

As the clouds turned pink, Khamul hurried off into the empty streets, rushing down roads, heading with all speed towards the palace.  
"What is your hurry, lady?" the guard asked.  
"Open the gate, I need to speak with Sauron," Khamul said.  
"That is Lord Sauron, to you," the guard reprimanded.  
I'm not going to be sad to see you die, Khamul thought, glaring at him as he slowly opened the gate. Much slower than he had to, in her opinion.  
Sprinting through the gate, Khamul raced into the temple and nearly ran into Sauron, who was standing in front of the altar, gazing up at the ceiling.  
"What is it?" Khamul demanded. "It is dawn."  
"A red dawn," Sauron said. "The blood of all Numenor will spill today."  
"Are you sure you will not come with us?"  
"There are things that I need to take care of," Sauron said. "But you are right about the Valar; this disaster will be meant to kill me as well. Therefore," He removed the One Ring, "take this."  
"The Ring?" Khamul asked as he placed it in her hand. It was a solid gold band set with no stones, though Khamul knew that in heat it displayed markings.   
"Take it and leave now," Sauron said. "I take it you have not caught Elendil?"  
Khamul shook her head.  
"That is unfortunate. They stole the seven palantri from their resting place yesterday. I had wished those for my own. But no matter. At least we will all get out of this coming disaster."  
"What of Miriel?" Khamul asked. "I don't know if the boat can hold another person."  
"Don't bother with her," Sauron said.  
"And the child?"  
Sauron shrugged. "It's either mine, in which case it's a monster, or it's Melkor's, in which case it's worse. Believe me, it's good that it's dying here."  
Khamul nodded. "Anything else?" she asked, her legs dying to run back to the docks and leave these cursed shores.  
"Go," Sauron said.   
Khamul obeyed happily, sprinting with every ounce of speed she possessed out of the gate, ignoring the snarls of the guards, and down the streets. Day was just beginning in Numenor. The people were waking up and shops were starting to open. For the last time, Khamul thought.  
"Can we leave?" Ceure asked as she ran into the docks.  
"Yes!" Khamul yelled. "Get in the boat! Get in the boat!" As she yelled, a mighty tremor struck, hurling her to the ground. It's beginning Khamul thought. She put the Ring on her finger in order to keep it safe from flying into the ocean or some such thing.  
"Khamul, you are nearly transparent," Vorea said, alarmed  
"What? I don't care," Khamul snapped. "I don't have time for this! Get in the boat!"  
Ceure was already undoing the knot to cast the boat off as another tremor struck, this one more violent than the last. Shingles fell off roofs, people fell to the ground in the street, carts tumbled over.  
"So much for Elendil," Khamul muttered.   
"Agh!" Ceure exclaimed, leaping to her feet suddenly and nearly capsizing the boat.  
"What are you doing?" Khamul roared.  
"We are coming with you," Elendil said, throwing back a tarp that had been covering the far end of the boat.  
"There's not enough room!"  
"We will make room," Elendil said. "Hurry! The Valar will not allow the people of Numenor to suffer for long!"  
Cursing, Khamul shoved the ringbearers into the boat one by one.  
"Lord Elendil," Morion said, bowing as Khamul pushed him in.   
"It is hard to see my kinsman fallen so far," Elendil murmured.  
"Valar!" Khamul snarled. "That's Isildur! And that's the other one, too!"  
"Yes," Isildur said, glaring bitterly at Khamul. "I do not see why we had to wait for her, Father."  
"Debts must be repaid," Elendil said. "Hurry, Lady Khamul. We cannot wait long now."  
"I must be mad for this," Khamul muttered, stepping gingerly into the boat as the earth shook again.  
"Hands to the oars!" Elendil cried, seizing an oar and pulling with all his strength.  
"You heard the man!" Khamul snapped. "Pull, dammit! Pull!"  
The boat was far over its capacity, and with every tremble and shake was in danger of swamping. As it was, Khamul was soaked from the splashing of the oars and the waves that sloshed over the small boat.   
"Did you get the palantri?" Khamul asked as they rowed through the entrance to Romenna Harbor. Chaos was evident all around. People were running back and forth, trying to put out flames that were springing up all over town. Khamul looked towards the palace and the great dome of the temple, and saw a figure standing atop the dome, daring the Valar to do their worst. Sauron, she thought, shaking her head.  
"Yes, we did," Elendil said. "I fear you can have none of them."  
"I don't care," Khamul said.  
"Why are you transparent, lady?" Elendil's second son asked.  
"Anarion!" Elendil grumbled.   
"I don't know, and I really don't care," Khamul said. "The only thing I care about right now is getting out of here before the really bad stuff starts happening. And then I'll worry about why I'm transparent."  
"Do you think we're safe now?" Ceure asked, looking back towards Numenor as they left the Harbor.  
"No," Khamul said. "We won't be safe until we're in Middle-Earth."  
"I agree," Elendil said. "We cannot relax though until we are at least a mile from the island."  
"What is going to happen?" Vorea asked. "Do you know?"  
Elendil shook his head. "I do not," he said. "Save that it will be a terrible disaster."  
"And that's all you need to know," Khamul muttered. The shoreline was disappearing, but the waves were choppy and rough. A powerful storm is brewing over Numenor, she thought, glancing up at the sky. Black clouds hovered above Armenelos.  
There were a few exclamations as the boat suddenly rocked as a wave passed under it.  
"Row!" Elendil roared, and no one dared disobey him.  
"What's going on?" Khamul asked as they paddled – Vorea even using her sword – away from the island.  
"That was no mere wave," Elendil said.  
"What? That little thing just now?" Khamul asked, nearly laughing. "It shook the boat, but barely."  
"We are in the open sea now," Elendil said. "Though not so far that we are safe from the debris that will soon be coming."  
"By the Valar!" Vorea gasped. "Look!"  
All heads turned towards Numenor. The sea was receding fast from the white shores, leaving fish thrashing and wriggling, exposed to the air.   
"The fools," Elendil groaned as people rushed down to the shore to gather up the food that was just lying there.  
"What is it?" Khamul whispered.  
Elendil looked away from the island, his eyes full of pain. "It is over," he said.  
A mighty wave rose up from seemingly the thin air. It was over a hundred feet tall and cast the exposed shore and hundreds of people in a dark shadow. Then, it came crashing down.  
"We aren't going to get hit by something like that, are we?" Khamul asked.  
"No, we are too far out to sea," Elendil said. "But when the houses and trees are destroyed, then we will have trouble. The debris will be all over these waters."  
"Dammit," Khamul cursed.  
They were a mile away from the island when a series of tidal waves began to swamp the island, each one reaching further and further inland. Armenelos was nothing by now. It had been taken by the second wave.  
"Meneltarma will be safe," Anarion said, looking to the temple at the top of the mountain. "The last temple to the Valar in Numenor will be protected."  
"I pray the queen made it there safely," Elendil said.  
I doubt she did, Khamul thought.  
They rowed all through the night. Occasionally the ship was hit by a tree branch or a piece of glass that used to belong to a window. Other items continued to turn up, along with bodies.   
"There's another," Ceure said the next morning, nodding at a corpse floating in the water.  
"There's a lot of bodies," Khamul said.  
"There were a lot of people on Numenor," Elendil said.  
Waves flowing from sunken Numenor, along with a good, stiff wind, carried the ship farther and faster than it could ever have gone by rowing alone.  
"I think we'll be on Middle-Earth in two days," Khamul said. "I hope you brought water," she said, looking at Elendil.  
"We are well-prepared," the last Lord of the Andunie said. "What of you?"  
"We don't need to eat or drink."  
"I see," Elendil said, nodding.   
"Just to get this straight," Khamul said, "this isn't a permanent arrangement. When we land on those shores, wherever they are, we are mortal enemies."  
"Of course," Elendil said. "My debt has been discharged."  
"Good," Khamul said. "We'll go our separate ways then."  
Elendil smiled. "I will not tell you where I am going," he said.  
"I think I'll be able to find out," Khamul said.   
"You will be headed to Mordor," Elendil said. "Despite the Valar's best efforts, they could not slay Sauron, could they?"  
"No," Khamul said, shaking her head.   
"Then it will be war between us," Elendil said.  
"Try not to get yourself killed by anyone else," Khamul said.   
"I will do my best not to get killed at all."  
Isildur cast Khamul a dark glance that spoke of his intentions in the coming war. Khamul returned the dark look, with interest. You think you can kill me, son of Elendil, she thought. But you are wrong. Oh, how you are wrong!  
A healthy, alive, if wet, company landed on the shores of Middle-Earth the dawn of the third day after the destruction of Numenor.  
"Are you all that survived?" Khamul asked as they staggered off the boat.  
"There are nine other ships," Elendil said. "But that is all I shall tell you."  
"If you know where we are, that would be nice, too."  
"Pelargir," Morion said. "I've been here before."  
"I see settlements in the distance," Elendil said. "Ah, they fly the flag of Numenor. I think I see rest for us, my sons."  
"And I can see Orodruin's fires," Khamul said, glancing towards the south.   
"Again, I say it is a shame to see a kinsman fallen," Elendil said to Morion.  
"Through no choice of mine, Lord Elendil," Morion said.  
Elendil nodded sadly. "It has been a time of strange allies and great grief, but that has ended. Farewell, ringbearers. May we meet again under better circumstances."  
"We won't," Khamul said.   
Elendil and his sons walked towards the settlement, while Khamul and the other ringbearers headed back towards Mordor.  
"It's going to be a long walk," Khamul said.


	26. Return to Mordor

"You made it!" Yanta exclaimed as the bedraggled group stumbled through the doors of the Barad-dur.  
"You might have had horses waiting at the Morannon," Khamul growled.  
"Ah, now that's an idea," Yanta said. She shrugged. "Didn't think of that."  
"What else didn't you think of?"  
"Ah, you're alive," Metima said, smiling as she walked in. "And three more have joined our ranks. Who are you?" she asked.  
"My name is Ancalime," the lady said, stepping forward and curtsying. Yanta's lip curled into a sneer.  
"Ceure," the middle-aged woman said, folding her arms across her chest.  
"Morion," the last said.   
"I think I can spot the ninth," Yanta said, glancing at Ancalime, "but who's first?"  
"Me," Morion said.  
"Really?"  
"Unfortunately, yes," Khamul said. "There was an incident."  
"Oh, do tell."  
"That tale would be better after I am corporeal once again," Sauron's voice said.   
"He made it?" Khamul asked, glancing around.  
"He's a spirit," Metima said, nodding at the throne.   
"Give me my Ring, Khamul," Sauron said.   
"Of course," Khamul said, walking to the throne. "What do I do?" she asked. "Just drop it or something?"  
"Yes, do that," Sauron said.  
Khamul removed the Ring and tossed it into the air. Strange, she thought. I'm not transparent anymore. I'm completely solid. It must be something about the Ring.  
It took a moment, but suddenly Sauron appeared on his throne, looking none the worse for wear than when the whole business with Numenor had begun.  
"Numenor has fallen," Sauron said. "And still we stand."  
"What happened?" Khamul asked.  
"I was overtaken by a large wave brimming with the wrath of the Valar. It tore my form to pieces and sent my spirit fleeing back to Mordor," Sauron said.   
"Everybody else die?"  
"Yes," Sauron said, nodding. "Miriel nearly made it to Meneltarma's temple, but the waves overtook her. The Valar evidently did not believe her pure enough to reach it."  
Sauron had not mentioned the child, and Khamul didn't bring it up. No need to, she thought. It's in the past now, and likely at the bottom of the ocean.  
"What do we do now that the brave have returned?" Aica asked with a slight sneer as she and her brother walked in.  
"Khamul," Sauron said, looking at her with a piercing glance. He knows about Elendil, she thought.  
"We escaped Numenor with Elendil and his sons," Khamul said. "We did not have time to fight them. Escape was our only concern at that moment."  
Sauron nodded slowly. "Continue," he said.  
"They are at a Numenorean settlement in the Pelargir. Do we have the forces necessary to attack them?"  
"Answer that, Metima," Sauron said, his voice approaching lethal.  
"Well, the orcs sort of left," Metima said. "They thought you were gone for good," she said, nodding at Sauron. "We are trying to recapture them, but they are proving difficult."  
Khamul groaned. "The longer we leave them, the stronger they become!" she snarled.  
"We have no choice," Sauron said. "There is nothing we can do."  
Khamul snarled curses and started pacing back and forth, growling furiously. "So close!" she snarled. "We were so close!"  
"Numenor is destroyed," Sauron said. "That was the purpose."  
"But if the damn orcs were here we could wipe the settlers off the map as well!"  
Sauron sighed. "It is not always possible for all the best outcomes. We are fortunate our main goal was accomplished."  
"But now," Khamul muttered, "but now they will gather an army."  
"I think they are weak for that," Vorea said.  
"But in time! The longer we leave them, the greater the army! They will not rest until we are defeated!"  
"There is nothing we can do," Sauron said. "We are slowly re-gathering orcs and trolls. Eventually we will be ready."  
"Eventually," Khamul sneered. "Eventually they will be ready as well!"  
"Then we can only hope we are ready before they are."


	27. Strategy

Years passed. Was it really years? Khamul had difficulty believing that it was. Time flowed differently to her now. Before taking up the ring, time had been a precious, limited substance. Each drop of it was to be savored and enjoyed to the fullest. Now, it was something that she had in abundance. She could spend months, years, exploring the furthest reaches of Mordor without the slightest worry that she was drawing closer to death. Indeed, she had not aged in the slightest. She was still young, beautiful, and possessed of all her wits.  
"I forgot," she said, walking into the war room one day, "what year is it?"  
"Many years have passed," Vorea said, staring at an unfamiliar map. She looked quite grim, and Khamul examined the map over her shoulder.   
"It must have been many years," she said. "I don't recognize any of those cities. Easterlings?"  
"No," Vorea said. "Do you know what they call themselves?"  
Khamul shook her head. "There's one in the north there," she said, tapping the map to the east of Lindon. "And then there's one…just across the Anduin. Damn! That's close! Are they friendly?"  
"Time has passed strangely for us," Vorea said. "We have gathered our armies, bred more orcs, mass produced armor and weapons, but I fear there are others who have spent their time more wisely."  
Khamul frowned. "What do you mean? The elves? Are they friends of that northern kingdom?"  
"That northern kingdom is under the same rule as the southern kingdom," Vorea said. "Yes, they are friends of the elves. Gil-Galad considers the ruler a personal friend of his."  
Khamul sighed. "We are ready though," she snarled. "We are ready."  
"We are ready," Vorea agreed.   
"Who is the king of these enormous realms?"  
"Elendil," Vorea said.  
"What!"  
"Yes, it is he. He spends his time in Annuminas, the capital of the northern kingdom," Vorea said, gesturing to a small dot in the north. "His sons manage the land down here, though Isildur prefers the north. Arnor, it is called. And in the south is Gondor."  
"Where is Isildur now?" Khamul asked.  
"I do not know. Orcs make poor spies."  
"What are all these cities? Damn! These years have been slipping by like water!"  
"I know what you mean," Vorea said. "But the Numenoreans are very clever. They have been hiding the development of their cities quite cunningly. At first we thought it was just larger settlements and paid them no heed. The northern one took shape first, and as Gondor was being built up, a mighty army came out of the north to defend them against our raids."  
"A mighty army?"  
Vorea nodded. "At least three thousand. Reinforced with elves."  
"So Elendil is in the north," Khamul said, "and he's sent his whole army? into the south here?"  
"Not his whole army," Vorea said. "Less than half."  
"Less than half," Khamul muttered.  
"And he is gaining more every day."  
"And how many orcs do we have?"  
"Thirty thousand," Vorea said. "If you rally the Haradrim, we might be able to rout them."  
"Numenoreans are good fighters, I take it," Khamul said. "If it takes such a large army for you to consider that we might win."  
"They have Gil-Galad and the elves as well," Vorea said. "He commands easily ten thousand. And I fear we have badly underestimated Elendil's force."  
"What about the dwarves?"  
Vorea shook her head. "They have locked themselves in Khazad-Dum and refuse entry to all."  
"Good," Khamul said. "Now…we need some more allies."  
"We capture trolls occasionally," Vorea said. "There are perhaps five hundred of them by now."  
"Not nearly enough. Ogres?"  
"Morion is leading an expedition to recruit a band that have been terrorizing the east. If they joined us we would have nearly a thousand."  
"We still need more," Khamul said. "Likely we outnumber the enemy, but a single elf can take out a dozen orcs."  
"Unless they are overwhelmed and dragged down by the sheer numbers," Vorea pointed out.  
"Yes, that's true," Khamul said. "Strange, isn't it? We lose more warriors per elf when we have less than when we have more."  
"Do you have any suggestions?" Vorea asked.  
"They're getting very strong. We need to crush them now before they can get stronger."  
"How do you propose to do that?"  
"What's that city?" Khamul asked, pointing to a small dot near the pass of Cirith Ungol.  
"Minas Ithil," Vorea said. "That is Isildur's city. The capital of Gondor is Osgiliath, which straddles the Anduin, and built into the living rock of Mindolluin is Minas Anor, home of Anarion."  
"We're going to take Minas Ithil," Khamul said.


	28. Fall of the Tower of the Moon

"What a fine day," the Lady commented as she strolled the ramparts of the great wall.   
"Mother, it is a fine day," Ciryon said, gazing up into the sky. "But a storm gathers in that Black Land."  
"Do not think of such things, my child," the Lady said, gently touching her son's arm. "Your father is a mighty warrior; you have seen his skill before. And Elendil is the finest leader the Edain have ever had, or ever will."  
"I only wish I shared your optimism," Ciryon said grimly.  
"Nonsense," Aratan said, stepping into the conversation. "We may not outnumber the orcs, yet, but we soon will. And every Numenorean can kill at least a dozen orcs before dying themselves."  
"Ah!" the Lady groaned. "Do not talk of dying."  
"Forgive me, Mother," Aratan said, bowing. "I only meant to inspire courage in faithless Ciryon."  
"If only Elendur was with us," Ciryon said. "But no, he is needed at Minas Anor."  
"He's not much of a fighter anyway," Aratan said. "Worthless, really."  
"Children!" the Lady exclaimed, pressing a hand to her stomach. "Cease this banter!"  
"Are you ill?" Aratan asked, clasping his mother's hand.  
"I am pregnant, child," the Lady gasped. "Do not upset me so! I could not bear it if you died."  
"We won't die," Aratan said soothingly. "We are Numenoreans, Mother, and wary of Sauron's treachery."  
"There were many good Numenoreans who died that terrible day who were also," the Lady said. "I must retire to my rooms. I cannot bear this anymore."  
Ciryon sighed as his mother walked down from the high walls. "I fear for her," he said.  
"Your fears are groundless," Aratan said. "Look at these walls? We have built them in peace and secret, killing every orc who came near. And see the fruits of our labor! Sauron – returned, or dead – has no knowledge of our triumphant arrival on Middle-Earth!"  
"He is not dead," Ciryon said grimly. "The Dark Lord lives still."  
"Think what you wish," Aratan said with a shrug. "I, for one, believe him to be rotting in the Void with his monstrous master."  
"Look there!" Ciryon exclaimed suddenly, gesturing to a narrow road that led over the mountains into Mordor.  
"Eh? What is it?" Aratan asked. He gasped. "Orcs!" he snarled.  
"By the thousands," Ciryon whispered. "And I see trolls and ogres there as well. We must leave."  
"What are you talking about? We can't leave."  
"We cannot fight either! Hurry! To Osgiliath!"  
"How is this possible?" Aratan asked as his brother sounded the alarm and they hurried for the horses. "Nothing from Mordor for years and years, and now this!"  
"They have gathered their strength," Ciryon hissed. "They are ready."  
"And we are ready as well!" Aratan thundered. "We are ready to crush them once and for all!"  
"That may be," Ciryon agreed. "Or it may be that we are the ones who are crushed, and all Numenorean blood shall go out of Arda forever."  
"Do not think like that," the Lady whispered, running past her sons and the crowds of people who were rapidly filling up the courtyard. "We will prevail. The Valar are on our side."  
"Much good that did Numenor," Ciryon muttered bitterly, leaping upon his horse and pulling up his mother in front of him. "The horse is strong enough to carry both of us," he said.  
"All of us," the Lady whispered, touching her belly. "All of us."  
*  
Khamul stood, resplendent in her black cloak that fluttered like a raven's wing in the wind, watching the pillage and looting of Minas Ithil.  
"What I wouldn't give to be fighting down there," she said.  
"I don't think you'd like it very much," Morion said. "Though, considering Umbar, I may be wrong."  
"You would be very wrong," Khamul said.  
Morion nodded, watching the ogres closely.  
"You've made some friends, I see," Khamul said, watching the savage beasts shove orcs out of the way so they could destroy the remaining people inside the city. There weren't many left. A good half of Minas Ithil had escaped, and were already across the river in Osgiliath, curse their souls. But the rest were dead, spitted on orc spears, or their blood on ogre tusks.  
He wasn't such a horrible captain, Khamul thought, watching Morion shout at a band of trolls. She would be a better leader, no doubts there, but he wasn't the disaster she'd feared.  
"This is too easy," he said, looking back onto the battlefield.  
"They weren't expecting us," Khamul said. "There were hardly any soldiers whatsoever. We should press on to Osgiliath. Maybe even Minas Anor."  
"No," Morion said, shaking his head. "Osgiliath is a garrison of many hundred soldiers, and the fortifications there have been in place longer than Minas Ithil's. The soldiers know how to fight off invaders there."  
"Just orc raids," Khamul sneered. "They know nothing of true battle."  
"Many are veterans of Numenor's army," Morion said. "I fought beside several of them. A victory there would not be easy."  
"Then what do we do, honored general?" Khamul snarled. "What is your wise and sage advice?"  
Morion considered this carefully. "I do not like the idea of spreading our forces so thin. Defending one city is bad enough; I'm considering simply abandoning it. But three? No. Elendil will know his way around those cities; their weaknesses, their strengths. We do not. The destruction of Gondor is not what this war hinges on."  
"What does it hinge on then?" Khamul asked, impressed despite of herself. Vorea must have been teaching him tactics, she thought.  
"The destruction of the Numenorean army," Morion said. A flicker of pain crossed his face. He did not relish the idea of fighting his cousins. "I think it likely that the elves will march with Elendil, perhaps even Gil-galad himself will come. In that case, we have two armies to defeat."  
"Where shall we meet them then?" Khamul asked. Yes, she thought. With the armies out of the way, we can destroy Gondor, and then raze Arnor in the north. Finally the Numenoreans will be completely obliterated as they should have been years ago. And we get the elves in the bargain this way, too. I like that. We'll be the sole great power left in Arda then, now that the Valar have disappeared.  
"I'm not sure that we will," Morion said, gazing off into the distance.  
"What?" Khamul snapped.  
Morion looked back at her and grinned. "I think we should let them come to us."


	29. Beginning of the End

"How many dead?" Elendil asked, head in his hands.  
"Perhaps half the city, Father," Isildur said, fury burning bright inside him. Those wretched Nazgul! We should have killed them when we had the chance, he thought angrily.  
"And your family?"  
"Elendur is safe in Minas Anor. My wife, Aratan and Ciryon are in Osgiliath. All are unharmed."  
"That is good news then," Elendil said. "This is war," he said after a long moment of consideration.  
"Yes, Father," Isildur said.  
"I feared that Sauron had not been destroyed. I can see now that I was right. We should have struck before at Mordor, as they should have at us. We are both too strong now for a mere battle," Elendil said, standing up and beginning to pace.  
Isildur frowned. "What are you talking about, Father?" he asked.  
"Our strength is immense," Elendil said. "Men of Middle-Earth have flocked to our banner. The elves are our allies. Gil-galad will call on his friends in Greenwood and Lorien. Together we will march on Mordor."  
"Sauron does not stand a chance," Isildur sneered. "We will break him like dry tinder with the combined might of Men and elves!"  
"I fear it will not be so easy, my son," Elendil said sadly. "The Dark Lord has been gathering strength in secret. Your own sons reported an army of many thousands – orcs, trolls and ogres – and that surely cannot be his entire strength. And we must not discount his Nazgul."  
"Which you did not slay when we had the chance."  
"We would have all perished in the destruction of Numenor then," Elendil said sharply. "Sauron would still be here, and who would be able to defeat him? No one."  
Isildur frowned, but did not press the issue.   
"Sauron's strength is at least as great as our own," Elendil said at last. "This inevitable war will be the greatest that we have seen since the War of Wrath. It may well break this world."  
"We will win it though," Isildur said. "Nothing can compare to the might of Men."  
"I pray that you are correct," Elendil said. "But I do not know. I just do not know."  
*  
"Lord."  
"Yes?" Gil-galad asked, turning from gazing out the window towards the West. Once he had fancied he could see Numenor, or even Eldamar. No longer.   
"The Dark Lord has shown himself," the king's new standard-bearer said. Gil-galad wondered how long this one would last. The last few had been picked off in minor raids. If a war was coming – and one surely was by the nature of this news – then the High King was sure that this one would not live to see the end of it.  
"I see," Gil-galad said. "How?"  
"He has taken Minas Ithil with a force of many thousands."  
"Damn," Gil-galad hissed. "He's stronger than we thought. That can't be his full force either. What other news?"  
"Elendil is rallying his army. They will be marching to Dagorlad within the month."  
Gil-galad nodded. So, he thought, the time has come at last. A war to equal the wars with Morgoth. To equal, perhaps, the War of Wrath. Never again did I think such a war would come. And yet, here it is, and I, the grandson of the only warrior to fight Morgoth in single combat, am faced against his lieutenant. Ah, surely that is not such a dreadful thing? An elf fighting a Vala must surely lose, but an elf fighting a Maia? Glorfindel slew a balrog, a Maia itself. If he can do it, then so can I.  
"My king?" asked the standard-bearer…Elrond, that was his name.  
"Send word to Galadriel in Lorien and Oropher in Greenwood. Like Elendil, we march as soon as the army is rallied. Ah, and send word to that great king as well. Tell him I will meet him with the army of Lindon at Amon Sul."  
"Yes, my king," Elrond said, bowing deeply before hurrying away to obey his king's orders.  
So it begins, Gil-galad thought, staring out into the West.


	30. The Long Wait on Weathertop

The army of Gondor surged across the narrow bridge, pushed open the ruined gates, and streamed into Minas Ithil, bristling for a fight.  
The rubble and bodies from the taking of the city still lay in the streets. But nothing else. There were no orcs, no ogres, no trolls. There was nothing. Everything was still.  
"Well, this is a fine sight indeed," Aratan muttered, glancing into buildings and muttering curses.  
"I see nothing fine about it," Ciryon said bitterly.  
"What I meant is that we bring the entire army of Gondor here to deal Sauron a devastating blow, and he's abandoned it! Can you believe that?"  
"Yes."  
Aratan snorted. "I expected nothing less," he sneered. "Low treachery, I'm thinking." He gasped. "What if Sauron is meaning to strike at Minas Anor, or Osgiliath?"  
"That's impossible," Ciryon said. "The only way to take either city is to cross the Anduin, and the only place that's possible for miles around is Osgiliath, which can only be accessed from Minas Ithil. We saw no great army, and so the cities are perfectly safe."  
Aratan shrugged. "Some cunning sorcery may be involved."  
"I doubt it," Ciryon said. "Sauron has no need to hold onto this place. He has started the war, but now we must finish it."  
Aratan sighed. "To Dagorlad then we send the army. Most of it anyway. And not us alongside it."  
"There are plenty of chances for glory and renown defending Minas Ithil against another attack," Ciryon said.  
"But not as many as fighting alongside Lord Elendil and Gil-galad ," Aratan said.  
"If Minas Ithil falls, then disaster awaits our victorious army," Ciryon said. "Presuming, of course, that they are victorious. If not, then it won't matter anyway."  
Aratan sighed again and started giving orders for the bulk of the army to move to Dagorlad.   
"Do you think the elves will come?" he asked.  
"I think the question is not if they will come," Ciryon said, "but if they will come in time."  
*  
Carrier pigeons kept Elendil abreast of the developments in southern Middle-Earth. They were clever little things, he thought. Ingenious how they could go from one place to another, and then back again.  
"What news?" he asked, staring out across the bleak land of Arnor. It was bleak, he thought. What was I thinking, building a realm here? It is so gloomy and depressing. The clouds hang in the sky all day. The rain is like streams of tears. Lindon. Now that is a place of happiness. Light and laughter and green leaves. Not like this. Not like this at all.  
"Sauron has abandoned Minas Ithil," the messenger said, reading the small scroll. "The army of Gondor is moving towards Dagorlad, leaving a portion behind to guard Minas Ithil, including two of Lord Isildur's sons. Lord Anarion and Lord Isildur, along with the rest of the Gondorian army, will clear Dagorlad of any orcs there, and will await the arrival of Arnor's army as well as the elves."  
Elendil nodded. "And of my army?"  
"Three-quarters are marching south to Dagorlad," the messenger said. "They should arrive within the month. And as for the rest, they ring the land around Amon Sul."  
"I can see them," Elendil said. He stood up and walked to the window, looking out. "Where is Gil-galad? He should be here by now."  
"I do not know that, my king."  
"Send a message to Isildur. Tell him to be cautious. Sauron's apparent abandonment of the lands outside Mordor may be a deception. It would not do well for me to arrive to burned lands and a dead army."  
"Yes, my king," the messenger said, bowing and hurrying away.  
"Where are you?" Elendil muttered, staring out into the west. "Gil-galad! You swore to me that together we would make an end to Sauron forever. And yet where are you?"  
The days passed, and Elendil got word that Gondor's army had destroyed two small orc bands and encamped on the plains of Dagorlad, only a few miles from the Morannon. They reported no raids, or indeed even seeing anyone patrolling the fearsome battlements of the Black Gate.  
One morning as he strode the top of the fortress, pacing nervously, Elendil stopped suddenly, and whirled around.  
"What is it, my king?" one of his advisors asked, following the king's gaze.  
"Do you hear that?" Elendil asked, smiling.  
"No, sire. What is it?"  
"Horns," Elendil said, hurrying to the edge of the battlements. "From the west!"  
"They have come at last then," the advisor said.  
"Rally the army. We will march within hours."  
"Yes, sire!"  
Elendil grinned, a rare expression on the normally serious man. "Gil-galad!" he whispered. "At last!"


	31. Arrival at the Morannon

"I don't like this," Khamul said, scowling down at the army camped right on her doorstep.  
"I have noticed you don't like a lot of things," Morion said.   
"I especially don't like this. What is his plan? Let the armies of elves and men overrun us?"  
"He has a plan, I am sure," Morion said. "Perhaps even one that does not end with the destruction of all of their army."  
Khamul shot him an irritated glare. "I understand that you used to be comrades," she said. "But that is over now, do you understand? You are one of us now."  
Morion grimaced. "Only because that foul Vala has possession of my soul."  
"Oh, it's your soul, too? I thought it was just your mind."  
"No, it's just my soul," Morion said. He sighed, closing his eyes. "I joined you because I knew that Sauron was the only creature in this world with the power to keep me…well, me. To not let Him take over. Otherwise I would have sooner thrown myself off a cliff than join you."  
"You will learn to like this," Khamul said.  
"I won't," Morion assured her.  
"The elves and Arnor's army will be arriving by tomorrow," Vorea reported. She looked from Khamul to Morion. "Does anyone have an idea what we will be doing after that?"  
"No," Khamul said.  
"We match them in numbers," Morion said.  
"Don't say that until the rest get here."  
"We should at least have a chance."  
"I believe I have a good estimate on their numbers," Vorea said.  
"And?" Khamul asked.  
"We outnumber them," Vorea said. "Not significantly, but we also have the edge of defending."  
"They cannot possibly assail the Morannon," Morion said. "We would slaughter them."  
"Station archers across the battlements," Khamul ordered. "When they make their move, I want them cut down like grass. They will not break these gates, and they will not enter Mordor."  
As Khamul left the ramparts of the Morannon to inspect the orc army, Vorea walked beside her.  
"They have dwarves," she said.  
"What?" Khamul snapped.   
"Dwarves of Khazad-Dum joined the fight. There are not many – only a few hundred – but still, it is notable."  
Khamul snarled. "We will still defeat them. We will crush them like dried leaves."  
"I fear that will not be possible. This will be a long and bitter fight."  
"I am ready for it," Khamul said.


	32. The Battle of Dagorlad

It was madness, pure and simple. Annihilate the army, Sauron said. Simple enough. Orcs shot down attackers as they approached the Black Gate, causing mass casualties among the invaders. And then the dwarves – the cursed dwarves who shouldn't have been in the battle in the first place! – approached, using a maneuver known as the turtle, rendering them impenetrable to the orcs' arrows. Shielded by their comrades, several dwarves set to work on the Morannon, before the entire group hurried away.  
"What is going on?" Khamul roared, leaning over the edge of the Black Gate in order to see for herself what the dwarves had been up to.  
A tremendous explosion rocked the gate, the explosives the dwarves had installed doing their work perfectly.  
Khamul landed with a hard thud on the ground, sixty feet from the ruins of the Morannon.   
"What happened?" she muttered groggily.   
"Are you all right?" Ceure asked, bending over her.   
"What happened?" she asked again.  
"They blew up the Morannon."  
"What? All of it?"  
Ceure nodded, and Khamul swore, stumbling to her feet. She was disoriented and dizzy from her fall of…what? several hundred feet. But no broken bones or anything other than a few bruises. What a remarkable ring, Khamul thought, not for the first, or last, time.  
"Right, what's happening now?"  
"All the orcs stationed on the Morannon, and a good number of those around it, are dead," Ceure said. "And it appears that a band of elves are charging."  
Khamul swore. "I need a horse," she snarled, looking around, but could see no steeds in the dust and chaos.  
"I don't see any around," Ceure said.   
"Fine," Khamul said, drawing her sword. "Then we won't have the pleasure of trampling down these elves."  
"I don't see that that's necessary," Ceure said, drawing her own short sword. "They are Silvan Elves."  
"Eh?"  
"Lightly armed from Greenwood. Their sole skill lies in archery. If we can avoid their arrows and get close enough so they can't use their bows, then they are utterly vulnerable."  
"Excellent," Khamul hissed, dodging an arrow. "Where's Vorea? We could use her right now."  
"I am pleased to hear it," the one-eyed ringbearer said, running up, twisting her metal spear in her hands.  
"We need to give Morion and the others time to rally the army," Khamul said. "Damn dwarves took us completely by surprise."  
"Indeed. What is your plan?"  
"What's that? About two hundred elves?" Khamul asked, nodding towards the approaching band.  
"Led by Oropher himself, unless I am much mistaken," Vorea said.  
"Kill him," Khamul said. "I see the rest of the army hasn't followed them. We'll teach these elves the lesson of obeying their commander."  
"Undisciplined," Vorea said, shaking her head in disgust.  
"Don't give them a good target!" Khamul hissed. "We may be immortal, but I don't want to test it!"  
"You already have," Ceure said.   
"I know, I know, but listen to me! Scatter! Hurry!"  
The arrows were beginning to fly, and Khamul startled the elves and dove straight into their midst, hacking with her sword. It was like slaughtering chickens, she decided. They were simply defenseless if they couldn't use their bows. A few were skilled with a knife, but she killed them quickly.  
Soon there was a wide circle around Khamul, and she could see a smaller one around Ceure, who had carved a swath of her own through the elves.  
Ducking an arrow carelessly shot by an elf, Khamul grinned with glee as she heard it impale and kill another elf. They're killing each other, she thought with joy. I hardly have to do anything.  
There was a terrible scream and all heads turned, and then quite a few fell off as Khamul took advantage of the elves' distraction to kill a few more.  
Five elves fell in rapid succession in front of Khamul, and Vorea stepped through the carnage.  
"It is done," she said.  
The elves melted away like clouds on a bright summer day.   
"Cowards!" Khamul cried after them as they fled Mordor for the safety of the waiting army.  
"They will blame Gil-galad for this," Vorea said. "Thranduil will, at least."  
"That's…"  
"Oropher's son."  
"Yes," Khamul said, nodding. "That ghastly wail him?"  
Vorea nodded and gestured to where an elf lay, his fine armor no protection against the eight-foot spear that had run him through.  
"Through his gut, too. Very nasty."  
"I do as you command," Vorea said.   
"Loyal to a fault," Khamul said with a grin. "Right, where's Morion? Here they come!"  
The main force of the invading army came charging towards the ruins of the Morannon, swords flashing in the light, horns raised in challenge.  
Behind Khamul and the others, and quickly reaching and then passing them, a massive tide of orcs and other creatures swept towards the army, bristling with weapons, bloodlust clear in their red eyes and drooling mouths.  
"Just in time, I'd say," Morion said from a black horse.   
"You wouldn't happen to have anymore of those horses around?" Khamul asked.  
"I'm afraid not," Morion said. "Was that Oropher you killed?" he asked Vorea.  
Vorea nodded once, and then pulled her spear out of the elf and turned to face the main force.  
"Try to drive them back to Dagorlad," Morion shouted above the chaos. "If we can drive them back that far, we may be able to trap them between the Anduin and our army!"  
Khamul nodded once and then raced towards the battle.  
The noise as the armies clashed was so loud and powerful it nearly knocked Khamul off her feet. Elf-wrought steel met the factory-forged blades of Mordor in a flash of sparks and thunder of metal.   
They were pushing them back, Khamul thought with a savage grin as the day wore on. It was evening now, but no stars shone. The black clouds of Mordor covered all.  
We're going to win this, Khamul convinced herself. They were past the ruins of the Morannon now, and into Dagorlad itself. The army's former camp was now a scene of bloodshed and terror. Orcs and elves, ogres and men, trolls and dwarves alike fell screaming to the ground, or simply fell and lay still, never to move again. Still, they were pushing the elves and men back. They were winning.  
And then, another explosion rocked the land. The dwarves had detonated their last few explosives, killing hundreds of orcs and more than a few of their own.  
It may have been the turning point, or it may have been inevitable, but slowly Khamul found that the Black Gate's ruins were all around her, and then they were in front of her.  
"What is this madness?" she hissed.  
"We're retreating," Morion said. His horse was long dead, and he fought alongside his lieutenant.   
"What?"  
"There are too many! If we stayed there, we would die!"  
Khamul cursed and snarled, cutting down the elves and men with reckless abandon. If only we had struck sooner! she thought angrily. If only more ogres had come! If only, if only…  
"Come on, Khamul!" Morion yelled, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her towards the Barad-dur.   
"No!" Khamul shouted. "There are still more to kill! We can't surrender! We can't stop now!"  
Vorea took her other arm and together they hauled Khamul into the Barad-dur's waiting gates, before the mighty doors slammed shut in the face of the advancing army.  
*  
"Sauron's forces have retreated to the Barad-dur," Elrond reported. "The field is ours."  
Gil-galad nodded, looking out over the scene. Orcs and elves alike lay in the field, side by side, still for now and forever.   
"We won then?" he whispered.  
"Yes, my king."  
Gil-galad nodded, still awash in horror. How many thousands of elves had died? How many thousands of humans as well? And of the dwarves only Durin and two dozen warriors remained.   
"So many dead," he whispered.  
"Lord Elendil and his sons survived the battle," Elrond said. "Lord Isildur's son, Lord Elendur, received a minor wound, but he is fine."  
Gil-galad nodded again, still taking in the devastation.  
"Thranduil is now the commander of the Silvan Elves."  
"Fool!" Gil-galad snarled, the rashness of Oropher stirring him back to reality. "If he had not struck, the Silvan Elves would not have lost so many! They are down to half their force now!"  
"Oropher is dead," Elrond said.  
Instantly, Gil-galad regretted his words. "Yes," he said. "I feared it would be so. Why else, after all, would Thranduil take command? Forgive me, I am not myself today."  
"No one is, my king."  
"Victory," Gil-galad scoffed, looking at the battle one last time. "Victory, ha! I see no victory."  
"Yet Sauron has been driven back, sire," Elrond pointed out.  
"Yes," Gil-galad said. "But at what price? At what great price?"


	33. The Siege of the Barad-dur

They surrounded the tower like water crashing around rock. In the dim light that filtered down from the clouds above, they glittered like waves. Khamul clenched her hands tightly on the guardrail, seething in fury.  
Turning to the south she could see the sea of Nurnen far off, the only fertile lands in all Mordor. To her everlasting anger she could see farms – and not the farms of Sauron! – ringing the sea.   
"They have farms now," she reported, throwing open the door to the war room.  
"They have an army to feed," Vorea said, gazing out over a map of Mordor. "Sieges are long things indeed."  
"How much food do we have?" Morion asked.  
"Enough," Vorea said. "And there are underground caverns from which we can harvest enough food to feed the army. Besides, I was thinking of mounting a few raids against the Numenoreans."  
"Keep them on their toes, and take some supplies," Morion said, nodding. "Good thinking."  
"Where's Sauron?" Khamul asked.  
"He is repairing warding spells on the gate," Morion said. "It seems though the dwarves' explosives have no effect, elf magic does."  
"I'll kill the first elf that sets foot in here."  
"The first elf that sets foot in here'll get skewered by a thousand arrows," Yanta said. "It's the next few that I'm worried about."  
"Quite," Vorea said. "I think this is a stalemate," she said at last.   
Khamul raised an eyebrow.  
"Think of it; they will not leave until we are defeated. They have the fertile lands of Nurn to farm; they are going nowhere. We, too, have enough food and water to outlast any siege, and our wards are strong enough to keep out all invaders. Do you not see? Neither side can win."  
"Unless some kind of decisive action was taken," Morion said, frowning down at the map.  
"A surprise attack," Khamul said, grinning.   
"We will be mounting small raids occasionally," Vorea said. "But with our whole army? I do not think that wise."  
Khamul shrugged. "The small raids will keep them nervous and paranoid. Once they're at their breaking point, we can sweep in and clear them out."  
"That may be a while. Both the men of Numenor and the elves are strong in mind and body."  
"We can wait," Khamul said. "We've waited months already."  
"This siege will be longer than a few months," Vorea prophesized. "It will be the longest siege since the Siege of Angband."  
*  
"Any news?" Elendil asked, glancing up from a large stack of paper.  
"No, lord," Gil-galad's herald said, bowing.   
"Then why have you come?"  
"My king wishes to discuss with you the benefits and detriments of laying siege to the Barad-dur."  
Elendil snorted. "We have already laid siege to it."  
"Continued siege then, lord."  
Elendil nodded and stood up. "Sauron is an enemy that must be destroyed," he said. "No land in the world is safe from him."  
"I am not the one you must convince, lord."  
Anger beginning to simmer in him, Elendil strode across the vast camp to the High King's tent.  
"Gil-galad!" he called, walking in. Have I abandoned all sense of protocol? he groaned, thinking of his actions. Ah, but I am a High King as well now. Arnor and Gondor are my realms, and they are far larger than Lindon.  
"I see you got my message," the High King of the Elves said, standing up to greet Elendil. "You have taken it much as I thought you would."  
"What is this nonsense?" Elendil snarled, abandoning all restraint. "You would call off the siege now? We have practically won!"  
"This will be a siege of years," Gil-galad said. "Do you wish to see your youngest grandchildren grow to manhood while you waste your days laying siege to the Barad-dur?"  
"If it ends Sauron's tyranny, then I would see my grandchildren grow and die before I would abandon it," Elendil retorted. "Do the elves forget Sauron's deeds in the First Age?"  
Gil-galad's eyes narrowed, stung by the remark. "No," he said, "we do not forget. But neither do we believe this siege is necessary. The Battle of Dagorlad is won. Must the Siege of the Barad-dur be as well?"  
"Yes," Elendil said. "We must destroy this evil!"  
"He is a Maia. He cannot be destroyed."  
"He can," Elendil hissed. "Listen to me, Gil-galad. He gave a ring, a plain gold band, to one of his minions during the Akallabeth. It made her transparent. It was this One Ring that has been nothing but the stuff of myth and legend for all these years. It is true. It is fact."  
"To make a ring of power so great, Sauron would have had to pour a great deal of his energy into it," Gil-galad mused.  
"Nearly all of it," Elendil said. "If we destroyed it…"  
"He would be destroyed as well," Gil-galad finished. "You are correct, Elendil," he admitted. "Sauron does have a weakness."  
"But to get it will be difficult," Elendil said. "Sauron is never without it."  
"Save for at the destruction of Numenor."  
"Yes, save for that," Elendil said, nodding. "But he will never let it leave his gaze now."  
"To take the ring we would have to fight him," Gil-galad said.  
A moment of silence followed the awful statement.  
"Yes," Elendil agreed.   
"A Maia as powerful as Sauron is not lightly slain."  
"No Maia is, and Sauron least of all. We would surely die in the attempt."  
Gil-galad nodded. "If the men of the West are willing to continue the siege of the Barad-dur further, the elves will as well. I fear Thranduil is dissenting, and spreading rebellion amongst the others. He blames us for Oropher's death."  
Elendil snorted. "When I was a soldier you waited until the general yelled 'charge' before you ran at the enemy."  
"Aye, and so it was with me also. Nevertheless…"  
Elendil scowled. "He will not take the elves with him, will he?"  
"No," Gil-galad said. "They, including him to some extent, are thoroughly loyal to me, and me alone."  
"Good," Elendil said. "It would not do well to wake up one morning all alone on the plains of Mordor."  
"That will not happen," Gil-galad said. He looked out of the tent towards the great black tower that rose like a spike into the sky. "I will give it years," he said. "Perhaps we can solve this without the disaster of fighting Sauron ourselves."  
"What a pair of cowards we are," Elendil snarled. "We could solve this now, but no, we wait."  
"We could not solve it now," Gil-galad said. "He is still too strong. When more of his orcs die, when his Nazgul are weary, when everything is all but lost, then we will challenge him. And then we will win."  
"Who will take the ring?"   
"I will have my herald destroy it, if he is still alive," Gil-galad said. "Or one of your sons, I suppose."  
Elendil nodded. "Not Isildur," he said. "He fell under Sauron's influence before, I fear. It would not do for him to be near the ring again. Anarion then, if your herald falls."


	34. Aica's Lucky Rock

They looked like ants, Aica thought, leaning over the edge of the topmost battlement of the Barad-dur. Tiny shining ants. Ah! And here come the big black ants.  
Orcs and ogres swept out of the Barad-dur, carving a bloody swath through the startled army. Aica cackled gleefully as elves and men fell to the orcs' fierce swords.  
Her cackle fell flat moments later, and then her face soured as the orcs were killed or driven back into the Barad-dur.  
"Well, it was fun while it lasted," she muttered, stepping down the stairs into the tower proper.   
It was terribly dull, being the seventh Nazgul. Ancalime was a worthless, pathetic creature. She could not imagine what Sauron had seen in her. Ringe was nearly as bad, though he had the redeeming features of being a good thief as well as her brother.  
"Well?" she demanded, smacking him upside the head.  
"Ah! Aica!" Ringe protested as she hit him again.  
"Well, I said? You lost, didn't you! You idiot!"  
"There were so many! And it was expected that we'd retreat! It's not possible to win the entire war with just three hundred orcs!"  
"How many did you kill?" Aica asked.  
"Four or five," Ringe said.  
"Elves or men?"  
"A few of both, I don't remember."  
Aica's face soured once more. "You idiot!" she snarled. "Elves are the ones that must die! They stole our forbearers' land! Leave the men to the orcs, they are weaker anyway! Kill the elves!"  
"I just killed whoever was in my way!"  
Aica snarled and slapped Ringe once more for good measure. "Did you find anything?" she asked.  
"There really wasn't much time to loot the bodies," Ringe said.  
Aica's eyes darkened and Ringe winced, fearing another blow. "Wait, wait," he said hastily, reaching into his pockets.   
"It better be good," Aica growled. "If it's something priceless, we might be able to barter it back. If it's the king's crown or something, we might even win the war."  
"Wait, I think I've got something," Ringe said, pulling something out. It was large and round. A good sign, he thought. I don't remember what it is, or where I got it, but it's got to be something good.  
"It's a rock," Aica said.  
"Er…" Ringe muttered.   
"Idiot!" Aica cursed, slapping Ringe several times. "I should beat you to death with this!" she snarled, seizing the rock from him and raising it threateningly.  
"Aica…" Ringe pleaded.  
"Go crawl into a corner and die," Aica snapped, storming away furiously. You give him one simple order, she thought. Find something valuable. And what does he come up with? A rock.   
"It might be a lucky rock," Ringe moaned from the corner he was crawling into.  
"Shut up," Aica snarled.   
The other Nazgul loathed the weather of Mordor as too dark (Metima), too open (Yanta), too not-Harad (Khamul), too dry (Morion), and many other things. But Aica loved the harsh winds that blew through the desolate land, whistling around towering rock formations. She loved the wide, open spaces. And she loved the darkness that shrouded the sky in a thick layer of cloud.  
Returning to her favorite pastime of leaning over the edge of the battlements, Aica looked down on the army. She was far closer to the camp now. She could even make out individual soldiers.  
"All in pretty little lines," she muttered, watching a Numenorean captain bark out orders. His helm was exceedingly sparkly. It glittered even in the dim Mordor light. It intrigued Aica.  
Why couldn't Ringe have killed that bastard and brought me his helm? she thought. Why couldn't I have done that? Why is he still alive? He should be dead now. They all should be.  
Narrowing her eyes and gauging the distance, Aica drew back her arm and threw down the rock, watching its progress eagerly.  
The rock fell like lead, heading straight for the Numenorean captain.   
There was a thud that even Aica could hear, and the captain fell, his helm no longer sparkly, but shiny with blood and brains.  
Giggling with glee, Aica darted back into the Barad-dur as the arrows began to fly.  
*  
Elendil was composing an order to send Anarion back to Minas Anor when the messenger came.  
"My king!" the man exclaimed, rushing into the tent.  
"Is it an attack?" Elendil asked, alarmed.  
"Well, no, my king, not exactly."  
"Then give me a moment," Elendil said, finishing the order. "And then take this letter to Anarion. I am sending him back to Minas Anor. He knows that city best, and I need someone making sure everything is running properly in the kingdoms."  
The messenger did not speak, and Elendil looked up, and saw tears streaming down the man's cheeks.  
"What is it?" he gasped, leaping to his feet.  
"My king," the messenger sobbed, "Lord Anarion is dead."


	35. The Last Alliance

Years passed. Seven since the Siege of the Barad-dur began. Five since Anarion was killed.   
"Elendil," Gil-galad said one morning – a rather bright morning for Mordor, now that Elendil thought about it – "it is time."  
A party of five rode to the slopes of Orodruin, on which so far all soldiers had not dared to go: Elendil and his last surviving son, Gil-galad, Elrond the herald, and finally Cirdan, the only elf anyone had ever seen with a beard.  
"Does that marvel alone make you worthy to walk beside us?" Isildur asked as they approached the volcano.  
"Perhaps," Cirdan said with a gleam in his eye.  
"Isildur!" Elendil barked sharply. "Listen to me, and mark my words well, my son. This will be the last you will see of me. On these slopes Gil-galad and I shall fight Sauron to the death. When he has fallen, you will guard Gil-galad's herald in taking Sauron's ring to Orodruin. Do you understand?"  
"Yes, Father," Isildur said bitterly.  
"Do as I ask," Elendil said softly. "In memory of your brother and all those who have fallen in these long years."  
"I understand."  
Elendil sighed and adjusted his armor. "I do not think horses will be of much use here," he said, dismounting.  
"I agree," Gil-galad said, turning Aiglos, his spear, in his hands. "Elrond, call out the Dark Lord. See if he will answer."  
"Will he hear?" Elrond asked.  
"He will hear," Gil-galad said. "I feel that he hears all that goes on in these lands."  
Stepping forward, the herald unfurled a scroll and began speaking loudly and nervously. "T-the High King of the Elves and the King of the Realms of Arnor and Gondor challenge Sauron, lord of the Barad-dur, to combat! They d-demand that either he s-surrender and depart these lands forever, or f-fight them to the death!"  
His duty done, Elrond hurried back to the relative safety of the small group. "Will he come?" he whispered.  
"He will," Gil-galad said. "He is as eager to end this as we are."  
"Can we expect treachery?"  
The High King snorted. "Of course," he said.  
"Two against one?" a cold voice sneered. "That is hardly fair."  
Sauron, dressed in fine armor, strode across the slope towards them. He had appeared from nowhere. As far as anyone knew, he had been waiting there the whole time and had just now shown himself.  
Foul wizard, Elendil thought, resting his hand on the hilt of Narsil. You have never failed me before, he thought to the sword. Do not fail me now in the greatest test of my life.  
"You are a Maia," Gil-galad said.  
"And you are Fingolfin's grandson, who challenged Melkor himself," Sauron said. "I expected nothing less, though after seven years I was beginning to fear that you had forgotten."  
"Do you surrender?" Elendil asked, eager to get it all over with as quickly as possible.  
"I do not," Sauron said.  
"Then you accept our challenge?"  
"I do," Sauron said, raising a mace. It reminded Gil-galad of Grond, weapon of Morgoth. Let it not be my doom to be crushed by that thing, he prayed to the Valar.  
Cirdan, Isildur, and Elrond stepped back as the battle began.  
Elendil and Gil-galad attacked from different sides, but both had to avoid the vicious and brutal swings of the mace, which would have shattered anything it came in contact with.  
Though both the kings' weapons hit Sauron, his armor protected him all the blows. Laughing, he struck again, this time shattering Elendil's shield, and sending the Numenorean man flying.  
Agh! Elendil thought in agony as his bare head struck a rock. I thought I was wearing a helmet. Ah, must have come off in the fighting.  
"Father!" Isildur shouted.  
"I am alive," Elendil gasped. Barely, he thought, staggering to his feet.  
Another crashed signaled the destruction of Gil-galad's shield, as well as his arm.  
"My king!" Cirdan and Elrond shouted in unison, both stepping forward to help.  
"I will not let this monster win!" Isildur yelled, drawing his sword.  
"No, you are not to participate in this battle," Sauron said, raising a hand. The three froze where they stood, unable to move or do anything save watch the fight play out. "When I am done carving these so-called kings to pieces, then I will end your miserable lives," Sauron promised.  
"What now, High King?" Elendil gasped, wiping blood away from his eyes.  
"I do not know," Gil-galad said, clutching his arm. His face was going a deathly shade of white. "I also did not know a broken arm could hurt so much."  
Glancing down, Elendil winced. Bits of white bone jutted out from torn flesh and armor.  
The pair ducked another swing of Sauron's mace, and Elendil tried to strike the Maia with Narsil, but Sauron was too quick.  
"Tiring already?" he asked when Elendil could do nothing but stagger after him.  
"I have a plan," Gil-galad whispered.  
"Is it a good plan?"  
"It is the only plan we have."  
"What is it?"  
"Kill him," Gil-galad said, nodding at Sauron, who was walking forward purposefully. The next blow Elendil knew he could not dodge.  
"That was the purpose of this, yes?" Elendil asked, watching in despair. Narsil felt like lead in his hands.  
"I will distract him."  
"No!" Elendil shouted, but Sauron's mace came down and knocked him flying into a pile of jagged rocks.  
"Elendil!" Gil-galad shouted.  
"I am alive," Elendil whispered weakly. Looking down he saw blood pouring out of two holes in his armor. Where did those come from? he thought. Ah, I see. Rocks had punctured the back of his armor, gone through his flesh, and then come out the other side. Nonsurvivable injury, he thought as the world started to spin.  
"For Arda!" Gil-galad shouted, throwing himself and Aiglos at Sauron.  
With a laugh of contempt, Sauron brushed the spear aside and incinerated the High King with a flick of his finger.  
"So dies the last king of the Noldor," he sneered at the blackened corpse of Gil-galad. "In vain did he die."  
"Not in vain!" Elendil shouted as he summoned his last ounce of strength and planted Narsil firmly in Sauron's back. The dwarf-forged blade pierced the Maia's armor and body.  
A terrible shock went through Elendil's body as Sauron fell. Narsil broke in half with the strength of it, and Elendil went flying back into those same damn rocks.  
I die in good company at least, he thought, looking at Gil-galad and seeing him as he once was.  
Strange, everything looked clearer now, brighter. Sauron is defeated, Elendil thought with a smile. And now the world shall know peace.


	36. The One Ring

"Father!" Isildur cried, rushing to Elendil's side. For as Sauron died, the spell holding him and the others was broken.  
"Alas," Cirdan said, looking down at Gil-galad. "The king is dead."  
"Long live the king?" Elrond asked, glancing at the older elf.  
Cirdan shook his head. "There is no other," he said. "Save for Galadriel, but I do not think she will accept the burden."  
"I must finish this now," Elrond said, stepping towards Sauron's corpse.  
"No!" Isildur shouted, walking over, a shard of Narsil in his hand. "Do not touch that body!"  
"Isildur!" Cirdan said sharply. "What are you planning?"  
"I take this," Isildur said, slicing the One Ring from Sauron's finger, "as weregild for my father and brother. Both of them died to save Arda."  
"And they will have died in vain if you take the Ring," Cirdan said. "Give it to Elrond; he will destroy it."  
"No," Isildur said, clenching the Ring in his hand. He smiled darkly at Elrond. "You already have a ring of your own, after all," he said. "Both of you do."  
"He gave you Vilya?" Cirdan asked Elrond, looking with surprise at the younger elf.  
"Yes," Elrond said. "This morning. He did not want it to be destroyed."  
"And Celebrimbor himself gave me Narya," Cirdan said. "I am not its true keeper though. I merely wait for the one who is."  
"Here we stand then," Isildur said, "on the field of victory. We, the three ringbearers."  
"Throw the Ring into the fires of Orodruin," Cirdan said. "That is the only way it can be unmade. Do it! End this!"  
Isildur did not answer but turned his back on the dead and alive, picked up Elendil's body, and walked away down the slopes of Orodruin.  
"Can we not force him?" Elrond asked.  
"No," Cirdan said, shaking his head. "All the Numenoreans would rise against us, and there would be another terrible battle. And, I fear, in the end the result would be the same. No, better to wait. We can convince Isildur to surrender the Ring another day, when he is in a more rational mood."  
"And now?"  
"And now we leave for home," Cirdan said. He smiled bitterly. "News, at least, that Thranduil will be glad to hear. And Durin and the other dwarf as well."


	37. Dawn of the Third Age

It was a cold and bitter night in Ithilien. A small fire crackled and several bodies huddled around it.  
"I had nearly forgotten what it was like to be cold," Metima said. "The rings did a lot."  
"They still do," Morion said. "We're not dead."  
"Is Sauron dead?" Ancalime asked, curling up next to her brother.   
"No," Morion replied. "If he was, I doubt we would still be here."  
"What happened then?"   
"I don't know."  
It had been a disaster. As Sauron died, the Barad-dur had collapsed, just barely leaving enough time for the nine ringbearers to escape to safety. Orcs were dying in droves, either being killed by falling masonry, or speared on the swords of the Last Alliance, as they were now being called throughout Middle-Earth.  
"So the Ring still exists then," Ceure said, staring into the fire.  
"It is in the hands of Isildur and his sons," Vorea said. "They are departing for the north after they set the affairs of Gondor in order. Anarion's son will rule there."  
"And Isildur takes Elendil's place as High King," Morion said. He smiled. "My cousin, High King of Middle-Earth."  
"Minas Ithil is ruled by Anarion's heir now," Vorea said. "Three of Isildur's sons have gone with him, and his wife and youngest wait for him in Rivendell."  
Morion nodded. "I wish the best of luck to him. If I could not have ruled the world, I would have no one else than him rule it."  
"It is not all over yet," Vorea said.   
"The elves are scattered," Aica said, grinning. "That's a start."  
"All of the land is severally weakened," Morion said. "It will take many hundreds of years to recover, and I doubt the elves ever truly will."  
"Particularly the elves of Greenwood," Vorea said. "Ah, there are possibilities there, I believe."  
"To the north then," Morion said. "On the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. There I think we will be able to escape the influence of both Arnor and Gondor, and whatever remains of the elven kingdoms."  
"Very little, that's what," Aica snickered, and Ringe smiled with her.  
"There is just one question that I have now," Vorea said.  
"What is it?" Morion asked.  
"Where is Khamul?"


End file.
